


lessons from daedalus

by nettlestingsoup



Series: to fly and to fall [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, M/M, Magic, Panic Attacks, mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24856639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nettlestingsoup/pseuds/nettlestingsoup
Summary: Jisung's life isn't really going anywhere; he's stuck in a rut, working two jobs and barely surviving, pushing through every day as best he can with panic attacks around ever corner. But he's tired. Nothing seems to be changing, and he isn't sure how long he can run along the same tracks until it becomes impossible to stand.But then something impossible appears in the alleyway behind his flat. Something that might just turn his life around.If only it'll stay.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: to fly and to fall [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748986
Comments: 54
Kudos: 209





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to Part 2 of to fly and to fall! I have a few brief notes before we begin.
> 
> 1\. The events of this story occur simultaneously to those of oak, broom, and meadowsweet, so if you haven't read that one, then bits of this might not make a lot of sense. There are also a lot of little links and Easter eggs to find that reference ob&m, so watch out for them! 
> 
> 2\. We go literally straight into this story with a description of a panic attack, so if that's going to be triggering for you in any way, let me know and I can provide you with a brief summary of the introduction, and let you know when it's safe to start reading. But I warn you, this occurs multiple times within this story.
> 
> 3\. Updates every 2 days, because I found that every 3 was a bit infrequent when I realised just how long this series is!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Jisung couldn’t breathe.

He fumbled with his key, hands shaking as he tried to find the lock. His head was bursting, pressure building in his skull as his heart threw itself against his ribs and his lungs closed up. Finally, he managed to open the door, wincing as it swung back too fast and slammed against the wall.

Letting the lock click behind him, he sank down into a crouch, clutching his head and trying desperately to find some air. This had been building all day, in little moments of crawling skin when a stranger brushed past, the sudden urge to curl into a ball at every unexpected sound. He had thought he’d be fine; the walk home was short, and he could turn out the lights in his flat and wait for the moment to pass. But a text from his father asking how work was going, and a siren blaring past him, bright and sudden and loud as lightning, and Jisung was falling apart.

Squeezing his eyes shut and letting his fingernails drag down his arms, Jisung did his best to breathe. Air wouldn’t come, hanging heavy as lead in the space around him, sliding over his skin like mercury. He needed to get out. He needed to get  _ out _ .

He scrambled to his feet; stumbled across his darkened flat to the fire escape, glowing faintly in the dark, and leaned heavily against the iron railings, letting the night air wash over him. The alley below was dark, the opposite building - more flats, Jisung thought - blocking out the moon. It was a little easier to breathe out here, the space big enough for his fear to expand into, a knot loosening in his chest. The wind sliced through him, chilling the tears on his cheeks. He hadn’t realised he was crying. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t seem to stop.

Jisung sat down heavily, the metal rattling beneath him, and leaned his head against the bars. He was so tired of this. Tired of pressure to succeed, tired of each day running the same, tired of feeling like nothing would ever change. He just wanted a moment to rest. Was that too much to ask?

Something clattered at the end of the alley, and Jisung glanced up. He thought he saw a shadow, heard a voice.

_ monster thief murderer creature _ , his head supplied.   
_ run run run run run _ _  
_ _ it’ll get you it’ll get you it’ll get you _ _  
_ _ stay still it won’t see you stay- _

A bin toppled to the ground, and Jisung stared as the shadow of a pair of wings rose high on the alley wall against the sodium amber of the streetlight.

"Ow," a voice said. "I hate cities. Who invented cities? What would Woojin even be doing down here..." The man kept muttering, growing closer, and Jisung sat frozen on the fire escape, hoping he was invisible in the dark. He gasped as he saw a pair of brilliant white wings lift high above the piles of rubbish, quickly clapping a hand over his mouth to cut off the sound.

"Hello?" the voice said. Jisung curled in on himself a little more as the wings drew closer, hoping his dark clothes would be enough to disguise him in the night. "Hey, what are you doing up there?"

Jisung opened his eyes, looking down into the alley through the bars of the fire escape. He promptly felt the urge to cover his tear-blotched face, tame his hair a little, brush the flakes of rust and paint from his jacket; because staring up at him, curious and bold and shining, was an  _ angel _ .

He was beautiful, features delicate and soft, eyes sparkling somehow in the dim light of the alley. His wings were arced in a way that looked a little uncomfortable, unable to spread out fully within the narrow space, and the tips of his feathers were touched grey from the dirt and lichen upon the bricks. It didn’t matter. They shone regardless.

"Have you seen another angel around?" he asked, and Jisung shook his head mutely. The angel sighed. "Oh well. Couldn’t hurt to ask. Can I come up?"

"What?" Jisung could barely find his voice. His heart was still beating too fast, too fast, too  _ fast _ and this was probably a hallucination. He’d probably gone insane. Were hallucinations a side effect of his meds? He wasn’t sure, despite obsessively reading over the warnings for days when he’d first been prescribed them.

"Can I come up?" the angel asked again. "I need somewhere to stay while I look for my friend, and you’ve seen me now, so…" he shrugged, and shot Jisung a winning smile. "Lower the ladder?"

Jisung moved without thinking, unhooking the ladder and letting it slide to the ground.  _ No no no run run run run _ , he heard, an old echo in the back of his head.  _ Too late now, _ he decided as the angel began to climb, wings folded so that they didn’t brush the walls. Jisung backed away as he hauled himself onto the platform, smiling brightly.

"Thanks! Do you live here?" He had entered Jisung’s flat before Jisung could speak, looking around in mild disapproval. Jisung followed him slowly, hovering at the edge of the room. This couldn’t be happening. There was an angel in his living room and he didn’t think he’d hoovered in weeks.  The thought was so mundane he almost laughed, but it came out as a sort of choked hum, and the angel frowned in concern. "It’s kind of dark in here," he complained.

Jisung cleared his throat. "The… the light switch is on that wall," he said, pointing across the room. The angel flicked the switch, smiling as the room was bathed in light.

"Oooh," he said, turning it off and on and off again. "The things you all think up." Jisung shielded his eyes, the pressure in his head returning as his brain refused to catch up with the flickering of the light.

"Sorry, could you… not do that?" he asked, and the angel turned to him, apparently surprised by his response.

"Does that hurt you? Is that a human thing?"

Jisung shook his head. "Just a me thing," he replied.

The angel shrugged. "Ok. Who are you, by the way?"

"My name’s Jisung," he replied. "I work in a bakery." What was he  _ saying _ ?

The angel smiled, and it wasn’t as blinding as Jisung had expected. His smile was… endearing. Sweet and soft as sunlight. "Minho," he said, holding out a hand for Jisung to shake. "Angel." Jisung shook his hand hesitantly.

"Good to meet you, Minho," he said shakily. "Do you mind if I check something?" Minho shook his head, a little bewildered, and Jisung crossed to the sofa, fishing his medication out of his bag. Quickly, he scanned the side effects, looking for anything that might explain what had just happened. There was nothing.

"What are those?" Minho asked, close to his ear, and Jisung almost jumped out of his skin.

"Did you have to sneak up on me?"

"I wasn’t sneaking," Minho said, apparently offended. "You just weren’t listening."

Jisung sighed. Somewhere to stay, Minho had said. That implied that he would be staying here for a while. That was going to be… interesting. "In answer to your question, it’s medication." He tucked the little bottle back into its pouch in his rucksack.

"Are you sick? Can I fix it?"

Jisung didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to talk about this with someone he just met, however angelic they were. He’d only told his neighbour, Changbin, when he’d found Jisung having a panic attack right outside his front door after he thought he’d lost his key and couldn’t afford to pay for a new one. " It’s not really your business," he said quietly, and he couldn’t look Minho in the eye in the silence that followed.

"Fine," Minho said eventually. "Your loss. The offer to fix it stands. Can I sleep on your sofa while I’m here? It looks comfy." He threw himself down on it before Jisung could answer, arms hooked over the backrest as he surveyed the flat behind it. His wings spread out as he looked around, and Jisung ducked out of the way.

"Why do you need to stay?" he asked, sitting down on the sofa beside him. He may as well accept the absurdity at this point, he decided. If he was going insane, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

"My friend is somewhere in this city. He… made a mistake. Broke a law. I have to find him before the other angels do." He sighed, and he looked so sad that Jisung almost reached out. "I want to know if he’s ok, I guess. But I really have no idea where he is." He smiled again. "Now that I have a base of operations, I can find out!" Jisung didn’t really know what to do with his change in mood. Living with an angel was one thing. Living with an angel this unpredictable was something else entirely.

"Ok," Jisung said slowly. "What law did he break? Your friend?"

Minho’s expression shifted to something more troubled; storm clouds above still waters. "He made a soul," he said quietly. "We’re not- it takes divinity, to be permitted to make a soul. We’re only aspects of the divine, not divinity itself, so… we know  _ how _ . It’s knowledge we’re all given. But we’re supposed to have the self restraint not to use it."

"And your friend didn’t?"

"He must have had a good reason," Minho murmured, and it seemed to Jisung that it wasn’t really directed at him. "He must."   


Jisung sighed. The exhaustion from his attack earlier, bone deep and draining, was beginning to kick in, and he really didn’t feel like talking anymore. "Ok. I’m going to bed because I have work in the morning, but I guess we’ll talk more about this tomorrow."  _ If you’re real and you’re still here, _ he thought to himself.

Minho leaned in close, and Jisung found himself holding his breath. Up close, his eyes sparkled even more. "Yeah, you do look tired," the angel agreed, leaning back. "Sleep well!"

"You too," Jisung mumbled distantly as he picked his rucksack off the floor and carried it to his room. Closing the door behind him, he listened to Minho hum some song he didn’t know, and considered whether the angel would hear him screaming if he muffled it with a pillow. Probably, he decided.

With a heavy sigh, Jisung let himself collapse onto his bed. He still hadn’t answered his father's text. What would he say?  _ Sure, dad, everything’s great. Still working two jobs and playing guitar in the street so I can afford the rent (except my depression’s been bad enough that I haven’t really been able to do that last one anymore) and I’m more and more sure every day that I’m going to be stuck in this rut forever, but an angel’s shown up now so I’m probably going to be locked up in an institution and finally out of your hair! _

Jisung dragged himself up, throwing on pyjamas and cleaning his teeth more out of habit than any real effort. He would go to sleep. He would go to sleep, and everything would seem better in the morning. That was how it worked, right?

* * *

It didn’t work. Jisung had tossed and turned for hours, his head still running around and around at ninety miles per hour, following the same old tracks he knew so well. He hadn’t even felt like he could get up and do something for fear of disturbing Minho. Not that he was even completely sure that Minho was real, despite him still being asleep on Jisung’s sofa when he left for work.

The walk to the bakery was uneventful, the city empty at five in the morning. The clubbers had mostly made it home, but the businessmen were still straightening their ties in front of the mirror. Jisung was grateful. He felt calmer, walking through somewhere empty.

A few streets away from the bakery, he could already smell it. His boss must have already started. Jiho tended to get in earlier than he did, getting the first set of loaves and pastries in the vast ovens and starting on the second just in time for Jisung to arrive and finish the first. It was a good routine, and he had grown comfortable with it over the years. He liked it. More than his other job, anyway.

The bell chimed as he stepped through the door into the whitewashed room, rough brick showing through the thin paint. "Hi!" he heard his boss call.

"Hey, Jiho," he called back, dropping his bag on a chair behind the counter. Jiho appeared from the kitchen, hands white with flour.

"Morning, kid. You’ve got a day off coming up, right? Got any plans?"

Jisung shrugged. "Not really." He never had the heart to tell Jiho that his two days off were for therapy, which tended to take all his energy, or just sleeping. He lost so many hours worrying throughout the week, he tended to lose an entire day to a kind of panicked lethargy.

He hated it.

The day passed as it always did, Jisung sporting a pounding sugar headache by the time he had finished icing and selling various pastries to a steady stream of customers. The bakery had been busy enough that Jisung hadn’t been able to take a lunch break, and by the time his shift ended he was starting to feel dizzy.

"Hey, Jisung," Jiho called out as Jisung grabbed his bag, ready to leave. "We’ve got some spare croissants. You want them?" Jisung nodded mutely, bowing his head as he took the paper bag from his boss. "You make sure you’re eating ok, yeah?" Jiho said kindly. "You’re looking a little thin lately."

"Ok," Jisung murmured. He wasn’t sure what else to say. "I’ll see you soon."

"Take care, Jisung."

"You too."

* * *

His convenience store shift passed slowly, with an aching head and tired eyes. He was grateful for the croissants Jiho had given him; breakfast had been a long time ago, after all. He saved one for Minho. He still wasn’t entirely sure that the angel wasn’t a hallucination caused by stress, or that he would still be there when Jisung returned home, but it couldn’t hurt, right? Jisung wanted him to still be there, he realised. It was an odd realisation. Sharing his space made him feel uncomfortable; Minho had already proven himself to be abrasive and nosy; Jisung didn’t even  _ believe  _ in angels.

But Minho was interesting. He was something new in the endless tedium Jisung had grown used to. New things tended to make Jisung nervous, and he couldn’t honestly say that Minho was an exception. But for some reason he couldn’t figure out, he wanted the angel to still be there when he walked back into his flat at midnight.  _ Maybe you just want proof that you’re not insane,  _ he thought to himself.  _ Seems kind of likely that you’ve cracked. _

Jisung found himself hesitating outside the door to his flat. He couldn’t hear anything through the door; no humming, no movement. Perhaps Minho was asleep, he thought. He’d come back late, after all.

Or perhaps he wasn’t there at all.

He unlocked the door.

Inside, Minho was crouched by the table, staring into a bowl of water with his wings raised behind him, faintly luminescent in the dusk of the room. Jisung let out a sigh of relief, and the angel glanced up.

"You’re back late," he remarked. He frowned, then, taking in Jisung’s appearance. "You look even more tired than yesterday. Are you ok?"

"I work kind of long hours," Jisung said faintly. "Do you want a croissant?" Minho’s eyes immediately widened.

"You have food? I mean, I don’t  _ need _ food, but I’ve always wanted to try it." He seemed genuinely excited, and Jisung wordlessly fished the paper bag out of his rucksack and handed it over. Minho stared at it in wonder, taking a small bite of a corner. His eyes widened as the pastry flaked onto his hands. "Is it supposed to fall apart?" he asked, sounding mildly horrified, and Jisung found himself smiling. Minho’s strangeness was proving to be oddly endearing upon occasion.

"Yeah," he said, "it is. I’ll get you a plate."

Minho seemed happier with a plate to catch the crumbs, humming gently as he ate. "Aren’t you going to have something?" he asked.

Jisung shrugged. "Yeah, but I’m too tired to think about it right now. I don’t have much in, anyway." Minho glanced guiltily down at his plate, slowly offering out the remaining half of the croissant like he was trying to feed a stray cat. Jisung laughed. "Nah, that’s ok. I had three of those earlier." He felt more comfortable around Minho today, he thought. Maybe it was because he wasn’t in the direct aftermath of a panic attack. Or maybe it was because Minho was completely, utterly different to what he thought an angel would be.

"What’s with the water?" he asked. Minho sighed heavily around a mouthful of pastry.

"I’m trying to scry for my friend," he explained. "It’s not going well. This thing just keeps telling me that he’s close by, which I already know."

"Is there anything else you can do?"

"Not without a lot more ingredients." He looked up hopefully. "Any chance you could get me some things?"

Jisung felt his heart sink. "I… Money’s kind of low at the moment. My landlord’s threatening to raise the rent, and…" He flinched as he felt water spray his face. "What was that for?" he asked, watching Minho flick excess water from the bowl off his hand.

"You looked sad. Don’t." The angel looked up at him with raised eyebrows, and Jisung couldn’t help but laugh incredulously.  _ When did you last laugh like this? _ The thought came unbidden, and Jisung pushed it away. He’d deal with that later, when he was trying to sleep. "Anyway," the angel continued, "most of the ingredients won’t cost anything. You’ll just need to gather them in a woodland or something. Steal things from people’s gardens."

"That’s so much worse. I refuse to do that."

"You don’t even know what I need."

Jisung sighed. "Fine. What do you need?"

"Wormwood and belladonna. The belladonna’s the important bit. I can do without the wormwood." He met Jisung’s eyes hopefully, and Jisung shook his head.

"You know that belladonna is…  _ ridiculously  _ poisonous, right? No one will be growing that."

"Is it?" Minho asked in surprise. "I forget how easily humans die."

"That should be number one on your list of things not to say to humans," Jisung recommended, and Minho laughed, eyes curving into crescents. "You’re weird," Jisung muttered, rolling his eyes. Minho shrugged. "Is there anything else you need?" Jisung asked. "Since I’m not picking belladonna for you, and you don’t eat."

"Music," Minho answered. "It’s sort of what we have instead of food."

"Well, the old radio still works, so… you can use that, I guess."

Minho blinked. "What’s a radio?" he asked.

"How long has it been since you were last on earth?"

"I think it was 1842?" Minho replied thoughtfully. "Sometime around then. There was a new instrument about, and Woojin and I wanted to see if we could play it."

"Could you?"

"No."

Jisung sighed. This just got stranger and stranger. "Ok," he said. "I’ll leave the radio on when I go to work tomorrow morning. Which is in-" he checked his watch. "-five hours. So I’m going to bed."

Minho frowned. "Do all humans work this hard?"

Jisung laughed humourlessly. "God, I hope not." And before Minho could ask another question, he had closed his bedroom door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a cat, and Seo Changbin; a pretty good combination!
> 
> There's also a very brief mention of past suicidal thoughts, but it's not discussed in depth.
> 
> Next update Friday <3

Jisung’s shift at the convenience store the next day came with a shock.

"I’m sorry, Jisung," his boss was saying, but Jisung couldn’t quite hear her over the sound of the fog in his head. "The new supermarket opened too close by. We’re just not getting the business we need to stay open."

"But…" he said softly. He needed to sit down. He couldn’t think.

"Trust me, you’re not the only one who needed this place. But these things happen." She walked away, leaving Jisung to stare, dazed, at a display of fizzy drinks. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t afford the rent just with the bakery work. There weren’t even more hours available to take there.

The rest of his shift passed in a blur, humming with old, exhausted panic, making his heart beat faster even as it dragged along the ground. When he slouched home, the sound of the radio murmuring through the door of his flat, he barely had the energy to say hello to Minho, who was sticking his head into the fridge with an air of fascination.

He sat down on the sofa, staring around his flat - his little kitchen, TV that only picked up five channels, bedroom barely big enough for a double bed - and the simple moment seemed to break a dam. Tears ran down his cheeks before he was really aware of them forming, his breath hitching and freezing in his lungs, the thread of the sofa cushions itching, ugly against his skin.

"Jisung?" Minho said softly, and the sound of it scraped at Jisung’s skull. He felt a hand on his shoulder, gentle as down, and he shuddered, shaking it off with a soft cry as he curled in on himself. "Ok," Minho said, worry clear in his tone. "I’ll just… I’ll sit here."

The two of them waited for the attack to pass, Jisung’s gasps and sobs filling up the silence between them as he reached the point where he was too tired to panic, too tired and too sad and too lost to do anything but lie down and wait for something to change.

"Are you ok?" Minho asked quietly once Jisung had stopped crying and was staring vaguely at the opposite wall. Jisung couldn’t meet his eyes. He hated people seeing him like this.

"I’m fine," he said softly. Minho snorted.

"Let me rephrase. What’s wrong? Because you’re obviously not fine."

"It’s not your business, Minho."

"But I could help! If you let me, Jisung, I might be able to help."

"Don’t," Jisung said tiredly. He didn’t have the energy to argue this. "I’m going to bed." He felt Minho’s fingertips brush his wrist as he walked away, and jerked his hand away savagely enough that Minho made a faint, wounded sound that sliced into Jisung’s ribs. He didn’t try to stop Jisung again as he headed for his bedroom, closing the door behind him. If he hadn’t felt so wretched, Jisung would have laughed. That was twice now that he’d shut Minho out, and he’d met the angel three days ago. But it wasn’t something Minho should be burdened with. It would just make him unhappy and uncomfortable, to know about what went on in Jisung’s head.

The radio clicked off in the next room, silence seeping under the crack in the door. It sent slivers of guilt through Jisung’s chest and he sighed, hanging his head. He couldn’t do this. This was why he didn’t really have friends, why he hadn’t been close to anyone except Changbin in years. He was bad at this. He pushed people away when they tried to help. Jisung almost laughed again. Minho was probably the only person who had any hope of helping, and Jisung was doing a great job there.

Not wanting to think about it any more, he turned out the lights and curled under the covers fully clothed. Sleep came slowly, coating his limbs like tar, and held him tight until the morning.

* * *

Despite it being his day off, Jisung didn’t have the luxury of a particularly late start. He rolled out of bed and into the shower at seven, wincing at the red marks where the seams of his jeans had pressed into his skin. His therapy appointment was nine am sharp, and it would be his last.

It was the only way he could afford rent, he had realised. If he could get another job, he’d pick it back up again, but for now… he was just going to have to manage. The thought was daunting.

Jisung frowned as a sound he recognised filtered through from the kitchen. The kettle? What on earth would Minho be doing with the kettle? Jisung sighed. Drinking out of it, probably. Abandoning his attempt to brush his hair, he opened the door and stepped into the living room. Minho, standing by the counter, smiled at him, and turned to hold out a mug.

"...what?" Jisung asked faintly.

"You made this before when you were leaving for work. I watched. I thought you might want it." Jisung stared. This was… unexpected. Minho offered the mug again and he took it mechanically, blowing gently on it before he took a sip. It was perfect. Minho had made him a perfect cup of tea.

He looked up to see Minho smiling broadly at him. "Why are you like this?" Jisung asked, and then promptly cursed himself. "That’s not- I didn’t mean-" He sighed. "Sorry. Thank you." Minho was still smiling, his eyes sparkling with laughter now, and Jisung smiled sheepishly back.

"Good to see you smile," Minho said, and Jisung looked away.

"Sorry about last night," he said quietly. "I try not to do that in front of people, it… it makes them uncomfortable. So, sorry. If I made you uncomfortable."

"Jisung, that’s the last thing I’m worried about," Minho said, and his voice was softer than Jisung had ever heard it, his tone as gentle as spring frost melting beneath the dawn. "You seemed so upset. You seemed _scared_. What’s wrong?"

Jisung shifted a little, taking a long sip of his tea to avoid the question. "It’s fine," he settled on answering. "Those moments always look worse than they are. You don’t have to worry." Minho was still staring at him when he looked up, the intensity in his eyes unyielding, and Jisung couldn’t hold his gaze. "I’ve got to go out," he said, hoping that Minho would look away. "Thanks again for the tea."

"Is that what it’s called?" Minho asked curiously. "Can I try some?" He had taken the mug out of his hands before Jisung could answer, and he felt himself relax. This was more familiar territory.

Minho made a face. "Why do you drink this?"

"It’s an acquired taste," Jisung explained. Minho frowned doubtfully, and took another sip. "What are you doing today?"

Minho sighed into the tea. "I’m going to try to scry again. Hopefully now I’m more settled in the space it’ll work better."

"Good luck," Jisung said, heading to the door before Minho could ask him again to find belladonna. He could feel the angel watching him go, and hoped that he’d dodged the last of the questions for now.

* * *

Therapy felt no different knowing it was his last session. His therapist asked, of course, how he felt about that, but Jisung didn’t really know what to say. He was terrified, if he was honest. He had integrated it so firmly into his routine, become so used to the surge of emotion that came with it, that he didn’t really know what he’d do without it. But what choice did he have?

He considered asking her about hallucinations, but decided against it. Even if his tea this morning had been in his head, there wasn’t much she could do about it at this stage.

Jisung’s second job of the day was to pick up his prescription - at least that was subsidised, even if his therapy wasn’t - and a new box of lavender tea. He tended to pair the two together, even now that the homeopathic shop he liked to go to was no longer next to the pharmacy. It had moved across town, to a smaller building with a flat above it, a few streets past his work. Logically, Jisung knew that he could get exactly the same tea en route from therapy, but he had always been to that shop, and his head wasn’t going to let him escape that. So, after dropping by the pharmacy, he headed across town, passing by his house to wander streets he wasn’t quite familiar with, learning their cobbles beneath his feet.

The homeopathic shop was small and tidy, shelves stacked neatly with colour coded remedies. Jisung had been amazed when he first walked in, expecting unruly bundles of dried herbs and the smell of incense.

"You’re thinking of an occultist," the woman behind the counter had told him, amused by his mumbled answer when she asked what he thought of the place. When they’d moved, she had been delighted to inform him that there was, in fact, an occultist just down the street if he wanted to take a look through the window, although it had been closed for a while.

"The owner died, apparently," she had explained. "Her grandson ran it for a while, but it closed up with no warning. I hope he’s all right."

Perusing the shelves for his tea, something caught Jisung’s eye. The bottle held a purple label edged with black, code for ‘use with caution’. Looking closer, he realised it was eye drops, the sticker on the bottle decorated with pictures of shining black berries.

"We kind of sell those as a tradition," the shopkeeper called from the counter. "Pretty rare that they’re used anymore. Belladonna has a bad rep. Not that there’s enough in an entire bottle of that stuff to do any damage."

"Belladonna?" Jisung asked. The shopkeeper nodded. Biting his lip, Jisung picked up the bottle, putting it next to his tea on the counter. He didn’t look at the price. Why was he doing this? He’d told Minho he couldn’t really afford to buy extra ingredients. But it was there, and Minho really did need to find his friend.

"See you again soon!" The shopkeeper called as he left, the little bottle tucked into his rucksack next to his meds. He hoped it was enough.

* * *

"What’s this?" Minho asked when Jisung handed him the bottle. He was crouched on the floor again, wings spread out behind him. Jisung caught himself staring at them, the shine on the longer flight feathers and the gentle flutter of the down. They really were beautiful.

"It’s- it’s belladonna," he said. "It’s pretty dilute so I don’t know if it’ll work, but…"

Minho’s eyes were shining as he looked up at Jisung, taking the bottle from Jisung’s hands and holding it up to the light. "Jisung! You said you couldn’t get it! This is fantastic!" Before Jisung could protest, Minho had wrapped his arms around him in a hug, and Jisung squirmed backwards to escape. Minho blinked questioningly.

"Sorry," Jisung said. "Can you… just… can you ask? Before you do things like that. I’m not good with them."

Minho stared for a moment, and then shrugged. "Ok. Can you give me your shirt, too? It smells sort of like Woojin, I think you might have ended up near him by accident."

"What?"

"Your shirt."

"...Ok," Jisung muttered. "I’ll just… I’ll go get changed."

"Just take it off now," Minho suggested blankly, and Jisung shook his head vehemently.

"No. No, I’ll- I’ll be back in a minute." He walked quickly to his room, feeling himself blush. He should have expected Minho to be so blunt about something like that. He was blunt about everything. But Jisung wasn’t proud of his body - there wasn’t much about himself that he was proud of, if he thought about it - and he absolutely wasn’t willing to just casually undress. And Minho… Minho was beautiful. It wasn’t like Jisung had spent a long time staring at him; he was too awkward for that. But in the glimpses he had caught of Minho’s smile, and Minho’s skin… Jisung would be ashamed to compare himself to that.

He sighed as he changed his shirt, wondering if Minho would leave as soon as he found his friend. Rain had started to thunder against the roof. Could angels fly in heavy rain? _Stupid question_ , he told himself. _Of course they can_ . _They’re angels_.

He headed back out into the living room, where Minho appeared to be stretching his wings. He was pulling faces as he did so, and Jisung couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter.

Minho looked up, startled as a rabbit, and then smiled. "Did I look silly?" he asked. "Woojin always told me I looked silly when I did that."

"A little," Jisung admitted. _But still beautiful_ , he didn’t say. Minho was always beautiful. Otherworldly. Jisung found he couldn’t look at him for long without feeling a smile tug at the corners of his lips. "How long have you been friends with Woojin?"

"For as long as I can remember," Minho replied. "We’ve just always been together. Along with Hyunjin and Seungmin. The four of us never quite fit with anyone else."

"I didn’t realise it was possible for angels to not fit in."

"We were always a little more interested in humans than the others. A little more mischievous." He laughed. "One of the others once told us we might as well _be_ humans with the amount of nonsense we got up to. Hyunjin asked him why he thought that was a bad thing."

"I guess that didn’t go over well," Jisung said lightly.

"Oh, it definitely didn’t. We hid for a few days. Woojin talked our way out of it eventually." He smiled softly. It was a slightly sad smile. Jisung found he couldn’t look away from it. "I always wished we’d visited earth more. It’s frowned upon to spend too much time here. But…" he looked around Jisung’s flat. "You’ve come so far since I was last here. So much has changed. I wish I’d seen it."

"I could talk you through some of it," Jisung suggested. "I mean- I don’t know much about history, but I can look it up."

Minho’s eyes widened. "How?"

"On my phone. Which… I will also have to explain to you."

Jisung spent the next hour guiding Minho through key inventions of the last 150 years using wikipedia (and ignoring the multitudes of missed call notifications from his parents); the radio, the fridge, the telephone. Minho was fascinated by all of them, eyes bright with curiosity as Jisung struggled to explain radio waves.

"I can go to the library and get you some books on these," he offered. "I don’t think I can explain them well enough for you."

"I like listening to you explain them," Minho said casually, and Jisung felt his chest fill with a strange, humming warmth.

"Didn’t you… you needed to find Woojin, right?" he said quickly. Someone so beautiful being this close, saying something close to a compliment, was too much for Jisung’s poor heart to take.

"I did!" Minho exclaimed. "I got distracted. You distracted me."

"You distracted yourself," Jisung countered weakly. It was a complete lie.

"Can I have your shirt?" Minho asked, and Jisung offered it silently. Minho took it, placing it so that it hung half out the bowl. Jisung watched as he poured in the bottle of belladonna, the light from his wings catching the flow of it.

"This won’t be very exciting to watch," he told Jisung. "You can go do something else if you want to."

Jisung shook his head. "Magic isn’t really something we have. I want to see it."

"Sorry for the lack of playing cards turning into doves," Minho said with a sigh. Closing his eyes, he rested his palms over the bowl, breathing slowly in and out. The shine around his wings seemed to intensify a little, casting soft shadows about the room and grazing Jisung’s skin. The light spread through Minho’s skin, flooding down the veins of his arms like rivers running to the sea, and coalesced in the bowl, dripping off the angel’s fingertips. He looked completely, utterly beautiful, and Jisung thought he felt his heart suspend, untethered, in his chest. As Minho breathed, the light faded; Jisung watched it pull back, casting him back into shadow next to Minho, and he suddenly felt so very small, and so very human.

 _this won’t last. he’ll be gone before you know it_ _  
_ _stop getting attached_ _  
_ _this is why no one sticks around_ _  
_ _you’re not good enough to be close to him_

"I need to go and take the bins out," he said quietly. Minho didn’t answer, and Jisung’s heart sank a little further in his chest. He left the angel and the light behind.

The alley where the bins were kept was dark, the rain polishing the tarmac to a fractured shine. It looked a little like stars, he thought, fallen down and splintered into bright spots of white fire. The rain kept pounding down, creating a thundering hiss on the plastic lids of the bins, soaking Jisung to the skin. He had just changed his shirt, he realised vaguely.

Having thrown away his bin bags and slammed the lid of the container shut, Jisung crouched down in the relative shelter of the fire escape. He couldn’t face going upstairs yet. He wasn’t even sure why he’d reacted that way. It wasn’t like he didn’t know Minho was an angel. It wasn’t like he wasn’t _aware_ that Minho was better than him, worth more than him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about the fact that Minho was going to leave before he could really get to know him.

Jisung closed his eyes, feeling the rainwater run over his skin. This was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.

_he didn’t even notice you leave_

Why should Minho notice everything he did? They’d only known each other for a few days, and Jisung had been nothing but defensive and distant.

_he’ll forget you as soon as he goes away_

What reason did he have to remember? Why would Jisung be special? Why did Jisung _want_ to be special? He paused to think about it. About Minho's smile, and his strangeness, and the sparkle in his eyes. Had Jisung seriously been stupid enough to develop a crush on an _angel_? He threw his head back against the brick wall in an attempt to dispel the thought. It didn't go away.

A small sound, under a mountain of rubbish, broke through. Jisung turned towards it, listening closely under the sound of the rain.

There it was again, faint and desperate and young. Jisung pulled one of the bags aside, and then another, catching sight of movement between the others. He moved them carefully, the sound growing louder, catching sight of wet fur and barely open eyes.

"Oh," Jisung said softly, pulling the kitten out from beneath the rubbish and holding it close to his chest. It mewled, high and pitiful, and he tucked it beneath the collar of his wet shirt, fur cold against his skin. "You stay warm, ok? Where’s your mum?" Supporting the kitten with one hand, he pulled away more of the rubbish, searching for any evidence of a mother or any other kittens. Nothing.

"Did someone leave you here?" he asked the kitten softly. It nestled further into his chest. He thought he could feel it purring, faint vibrations beneath his fingertips.

"Jisung?" Minho’s voice, calling from upstairs. Jisung looked up to see him hanging half out the window, staring down into the alley. "What are you doing down there?"

"I’ll be back up in a minute," Jisung shouted. "Let’s get you somewhere warm," he said more softly to the kitten, and it squeaked in response.

* * *

Minho looked at him questioningly when he arrived back in the flat.

"Where did you go?" he asked. "I came out of the trance and you- what’s that?" Gently, Jisung held the kitten out, and Minho’s eyes went wide.

"Can you hold him while I go get a towel?" Jisung asked, and Minho nodded slowly, carefully taking hold of the kitten and shielding it with a wing. He looked like he might cry. It was so tiny in his hands, dark tabby fur sticking up at all angles as it dried.

Wrapped in a fluffy blue towel, the kitten looked even smaller. Minho gently ruffled its fur, expression soft, and Jisung caught himself staring for a moment. It was so unlike the usual alacrity of his expression, his sparkling eyes and strange wit, that Jisung wasn’t able to look away.

"I need…" he said eventually, ignoring the hammer of his heart. "I need to go and buy formula milk. For him. He can’t drink anything else at this age." He sighed internally. Today was turning out to be a lot harder on his budget than he had planned.

"Ok," Minho said, not looking up from the kitten.

"I’ll just… I’ll go, then," Jisung said awkwardly, heading for the door.

"Jisung?" He turned to see Minho staring at him, gaze piercing and patient. "Why did you disappear earlier? I can’t see or hear when I’m scrying, so when I came out of it you were just… gone."

 _I can’t see or hear_ _  
_ _you were just… gone_

 _I would have noticed you leave._ Was that what he was saying? Was Jisung reading too much into it? But the intensity of Minho’s gaze, the way it felt like something was passing between them in that moment… it was like he knew what went on in Jisung’s head, when he looked at him like that.

"I… I just thought I might be in the way," he lied. "You can tell me what you saw when I get back, just… keep him warm." He shut the door before Minho could reply, pausing for a moment and closing his eyes in shame before he set out towards the pet shop. He couldn’t afford to look after a cat long term, he knew, but he could make sure the poor thing survived until it was old enough to be taken to a shelter.

* * *

The walk to and from the pet shop took Jisung around forty minutes; he was soaked to the skin when he returned, and he stood shivering in the corridor for a moment while he fumbled for his key.

"Jisung?" Jisung turned to see his neighbour, Changbin, just leaving his flat.

"Hey, Changbin," he said quietly. Changbin was one of the few people Jisung was genuinely comfortable with, but a part of him never quite believed that Changbin liked him as much as he seemed to. It made their dynamic strange, with Changbin so open and Jisung always holding back. But they were friends. Jisung would say that, at least, after everything Changbin knew.

"Are you ok?" Changbin asked. "You shouldn’t go out in that without a coat." Jisung shrugged.

"I know. You?"

"Pretty good. Hey, we should do another movie night at some point. You can choose the film?" Jisung nodded. Changbin had been calm and considerate last time they’d watched a film together, allowing Jisung to pause the film a few times when the noise had become too much, sticking to his end of the sofa so as not to make him uncomfortable.

"That would be nice. I’ve got a friend staying at the moment, but I’ll text you when he’s gone, ok?"

"Sounds good. See you!" He set off down the stairs with a wave, and Jisung finally opened the door to his flat. Inside, Minho was pacing the room slowly, bouncing the kitten gently as one might with a baby.

"See?" he murmured. "I told you Sungie would be back soon." Jisung felt something in his chest tighten oddly at the nickname. Minho had never called him that before.

 _it doesn’t mean anything  
_ _it doesn’t mean he cares_ _  
_ _it’s just a nickname_ _  
_ _he’s just using it because of the cat_ _  
_ _it’s not affection_

"How is he?" Jisung asked quietly.

"He’s warmed up," Minho replied, "but he keeps kneading the towel, so I think he’s hungry."

"We can fix that," Jisung murmured, grabbing a pan from the cupboard to heat the formula he had bought.

"Are you going to name him?" Minho asked as Jisung stood by the stove. He had brought the kitten over to have a look, pointing at the milk as though he expected a response.

"No," Jisung said. "I can’t afford to keep him, so I’ll turn him over to a shelter once he’s old enough to eat solid food." Silence from Minho. Jisung looked up to see him staring in affront, eyes burning a hole in Jisung’s head. Jisung looked away. He couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t deal with a clueless angel who probably didn’t even understand the concept of money making him feel guilty for trying to afford to feed himself.

"You’re not keeping him?"

"I just said, Minho, I can’t afford to."

"Why not? He won’t cost much. I’m sure you could find some spare-"

"I can’t."

"But Jisung-"

Jisung’s hand hit the counter. It wasn’t a hard blow, nor was it loud, but Minho fell silent. "Where, Minho? Where can I find spare money? Maybe in between buying food and paying my rent? Maybe I could drop therapy- oh, wait, I already did, so everything’s going to get worse and I’m still probably going to cut down on food because I lost one job and my landlord is going to raise my _fucking_ rent. So yeah, sure, I can afford to look after an animal and pay for vet bills and food and-" He broke off, sobbing, and Minho watched in obvious alarm as Jisung crouched down on the kitchen floor, crying into his hands.

Jisung felt a hand rest on his shoulder briefly before it pulled away.

"Can I give you a hug?" Minho asked quietly. Jisung nodded and the angel pulled him close. Minho had knelt beside him, pulling his close so that his forehead rested against the angel’s shoulder, the kitten mewling softly by his ear. Jisung let himself cry, feeling Minho’s hand draw soothing patterns on his back.

"The milk," he said eventually, voice tight with tears. "It’ll get too hot." He felt Minho’s fingertips trail gently down his arm as he stood, gentle and reluctant to let him go. He transferred the formula to the bottle without even looking at the angel, offering the bottle in his general direction. "You feed him," he mumbled. "He likes you."

Starting to head for his bedroom door, Jisung felt a hand catch his own. "Sit with me," Minho said gently. Jisung let Minho guide him to the sofa, the angel kneeling beside him and hooking his wings over the arm while he fed the kitten.

"You’re not well, are you?" Minho asked softly after the kitten started to feed messily, milk sticking in his fur.

Jisung pulled his knees up to his chest. "Not really," he agreed in a whisper. Minho waited patiently, eyes on the kitten rather than Jisung. "Getting panicky about things isn’t new," Jisung began. "I’ve always been kind of anxious, I guess. But three years ago I moved out. I decided to live on my own, and try to pursue music. I didn’t want much - I still don’t. Just a chance to play and sing somewhere, a few people to listen. But it’s hard to find that, and I… I got stuck. I didn’t exactly have any friends when I first moved here, and I had to get three jobs to afford the rent. I never even had time to practice guitar, or sing. My parents kept pressuring me to give up and find a steadier job. Things… got bad. I wasn’t… I don’t know. I just _wasn’t_."

He hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to say this. Only Changbin knew. Changbin was the one he had called, after all, on a whim, having scaled the fire escape to the roof, staring over the edge.

He didn’t say it. "My neighbour Changbin convinced me to start getting therapy. I got the job at the bakery, too, and that made things better. It meant I only had to work two jobs instead of three, and I have a bit of time to practice music, or play in the street." He sighed heavily. "But I just lost one of them. And I don’t really know what I’m going to do."

"I’m sorry," Minho said quietly, "for everything you’ve suffered." It was an odd, formal phrase, and it hit Jisung for the first time what Minho was. There was an angel on his sofa, ancient and beautiful, and yet again he felt small, and broken, and hopeless in comparison.

But then he looked up, seeing the brightness of compassion in Minho’s eyes, and something felt… comforted. Yes, his wings rose high behind him, feathers fluttering in the breeze from the window, but the way he looked at Jisung was so very human. The kitten had fallen asleep in his arms, and Jisung watched as Minho lowered the formula bottle to the floor and took Jisung’s hand.

"Forgive me," Minho said. "I didn’t mean to be cruel." Jisung started to shake his head, to say there was nothing to be forgiven, but Minho squeezed his hand. "Please, Jisung. I was unfair. I shouldn’t have said any of that."

"Ok," Jisung said hesitantly. "I forgive you."

Minho smiled, softer than usual, and Jisung felt his heart throw itself against his ribs at the sight of it. People that beautiful didn’t often look at him like that. "You’re doing well. It may not feel like it, but you’re surviving, Jisung. You’re trying to make things better for yourself. Sometimes things change out of your control, but I think you’ll be able to find a solution. But for now, the first thing you’re going to do is rest," Minho told him gently. "Are you working tomorrow?" Jisung nodded. "Then you’d better go to bed. I can make sure you sleep well. And I’ll look after the cat, so you don’t have to worry about him." He stood, pulling Jisung gently to his feet and into his bedroom. He sat on Jisung’s bed and patted the other side.

"What are you doing?" Jisung asked nervously.

"I have to be close by to help you sleep. I’ll just sit here, I promise."

Jisung hesitated. He didn’t like sharing his bed. It made him nervous, to feel another person so close in his sleep. But this was Minho. And he just wanted to help. "Ok," he agreed quietly. "I’ll- I’ll go get changed."

Minho was stroking the kitten softly when he returned, humming under his breath. He shot Jisung another gentle smile that made his head spin, and Jisung curled awkwardly under the covers with his back to him. The click as he turned out the lamp was deafening in the quiet, and Jisung tried to ignore the sound of Minho’s breathing mingling with his own, syncopated and soft. It made his skin itch, and he wondered frantically if this had been a bad idea.

 _you won’t sleep at all like this_ _  
_ _are you sure you trust him?_ _  
_ _he’s so close, too close, too_ **_close_ **   
breathe in, out, in, out, in-

But the thoughts faded quickly, overtaken by the freefall sensation of sleep, and the rhythm of Jisung’s breath aligned with Minho’s as he slipped away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The halfway point! This chapter kind of includes the worst and most vivid panic attack in the story; it's right at the end, so watch out for it if it might be triggering for you <3

Jisung awoke the next day to the sensation of someone brushing his hair gently from his forehead, light sliding in from under his blinds as the dawn crept in. He shifted, feeling the hand in his hair quickly retreat, and opened his eyes. He felt better rested than he had done in months. Some of the fog of exhaustion was gone from his head, his limbs no longer shaking and heavy.

"Good morning," he heard Minho say, and he turned to see the angel sitting cross legged beside him. The light that slipped in under the blinds caught his wings and the amber of his skin and set them glowing, and Jisung found that he couldn’t quite speak. He really was beautiful.

"Morning," he said. His voice was hoarse, and he hoped that Minho would attribute it only to sleep.

"How do you feel?"

"Much better," Jisung said honestly. Minho smiled brightly, and Jisung couldn’t help smiling back.

"I’ll make you some tea!" Minho said, leaping off the bed and heading into the kitchen before Jisung could even respond. He had taken the kitten with him, still curled in the crook of his elbow, and Jisung was glad that it seemed to be healthy. Perhaps Minho was working some magic on it, too.

* * *

"Thank you," Jisung said quietly to Minho as he drank his tea. It didn’t seem like enough, given how much better he felt, but it was all he could say. Minho shrugged, reaching for Jisung’s mug to take a sip.

"It was the least I could do," he said, and silence settled back between them.

"Did you find your friend?" Jisung asked after a moment. "I meant to ask yesterday, but…" he trailed off, and Minho’s fingers brushed his gently over the handle of the mug. It made Jisung’s heart leap for a moment. He did his best to ignore it.

"I got closer," Minho told him as he did his best to focus on the conversation rather than his own heartbeat. "The belladonna helped, as did your shirt. I think you got as close as the same street, maybe even within a few houses. So, I know roughly where he is." He sighed. "Something’s still blocking me, though, so I’ll have to go out one night and explore."

"Can you do that? Is it safe?"

Minho shrugged. "If I’m careful. I’ve done my fair share of sneaking around in the human world."

Jisung snorted. "In 1842? Things are different now. We have CCTV, especially if he’s near a street with shops on it." Minho stared blankly at him. "I can’t explain now, I have to get to work, but I’ll tell you later, ok?" Minho nodded, stealing his mug to drink the last of the tea, and Jisung found himself smiling as he left the flat.

* * *

Jisung was unexpectedly cold in the bakery. The heat of the ovens didn’t seem to reach him, and Jiho kept shooting him worried glances.

"You’re shivering, Jisung. Are you feeling ok?"

Jisung nodded. "Yeah, I’m just  _ cold _ ."

"You didn’t get caught out in the rain yesterday, did you?"

Jisung paused, remembering half an hour crouched in the alleyway, a long walk to the pet shop for formula milk. "I maybe did," he admitted. Jiho sighed.

"Get plenty of rest tonight, ok? I need you in tomorrow."

"I will," Jisung promised. Maybe Minho could help him sleep again, he thought.

* * *

He was worse by the time he got back home. He shivered all through explaining CCTV to Minho, and when he caught sight of his reflection in his bathroom mirror, he looked pale and sickly.

"What’s wrong?" Minho asked him as he leaned against Jisung’s shoulder, breath soft against Jisung’s neck. "You feel warm."

"Do I?" Jisung asked faintly. His bones sat heavy in his limbs, and he was so exhausted that he could believe Minho hadn’t been there at all last night. Minho moved away, frowning.

"Is this a human thing?"

Jisung laughed. "You really don’t know much about humans, do you? Aren’t you supposed to watch over us?"

"In a general sense. I don’t know the intricacies of how you function, but I could probably list every sin on your soul."

"That’s horrifying. Don’t list that," Jisung ordered dizzily. He really didn’t feel good.

Minho laughed. "Fine, I won’t. Are you sure you’re ok? Saxophone and I are worried." He was holding the kitten up to Jisung’s face, little paws reaching out to tap his nose.

"You named it Saxophone?"

Minho only had the decency to look a little ashamed. "I know you said we couldn’t name him, but I couldn’t just keep calling him ‘it’," he said defensively.

Jisung sighed. "That’s fair enough. I’m sorry for saying that, to be honest. I just… I can’t keep him. I didn’t want to get too attached."

"I understand." Minho frowned. "I think you should go to bed. You’ve gone sort of white."

"I wanted to practice tonight," Jisung mumbled.

"No," Minho said after a moment. "Come on." Jisung felt Minho’s arm loop around his waist, pulling him upright before he was pushed towards his bedroom door.

"I haven’t eaten, Minho," he complained.

"I know how to use your stove. I’ll make you one of those packet things." Jisung didn’t have the energy to protest.

* * *

As promised, Minho made him instant ramen, watching like a hawk as he ate.

"I’m fine, Minho," Jisung insisted.

Minho frowned, pressing his palm to Jisung’s forehead. It was an oddly human gesture, and Jisung could feel himself wanting to lean into it. "You’re even warmer than you were."

"It’s because I’m under a blanket," Jisung said. "I’ll be fine in the morning." Minho looked doubtful, and Jisung pushed him away with a sigh. "Just let me sleep, Minho. It’s just a human thing, I’ll be ok."

"Fine," Minho grumbled. He remained seated on the other side of the bed while Jisung settled down, setting his alarm. The last thing Jisung felt before he fell asleep was Minho gently placing Saxophone beside him, the kitten snuggling in close and purring in his ear.

* * *

He was even worse the next morning.

"You’re not going," Minho said when he headed for the door.

"I have to. Jiho said specifically that he needed me today," Jisung replied. Minho blocked his path, wings spread wide across the door. The sight took Jisung’s breath away a little, and he forced himself to look away. This crush was a nightmare.

"Jisung," he urged. "You’re not well. You can barely walk in a straight line."

"Good thing I just need to stand still at the bakery, then."

"Stop it! You’re staying home. You need to rest more."

Despite the hard set of his jaw and the spark of fire in his eyes, Minho’s expression was full of enough genuine concern that Jisung felt the wind fall from his sails, frustration fading. "We talked about this," he said gently. "I have to work. I can’t manage if I don’t. I promise, I’ll come home early if I think I need to, ok?"

"...Ok," Minho agreed reluctantly. "Just… you need to take care of yourself. Please. For me." Jisung stood frozen as Minho drew in his wings. No one had ever said anything like that to him. Sure, Changbin had told him to take care of himself. His parents had told him to take care of himself. But never like that. Never in such a soft tone, close to a plea, never reaching for his hand. Jisung pulled away. His heart couldn’t deal with this.

"I’ll see you later," he mumbled, stepping past Minho and through the door. He didn’t hear Minho’s reply.

* * *

"You’re really not well, huh?" Jiho asked halfway through the day. Jisung was shaking where he stood, pale and exhausted as he served customers.

"I’m ok," Jisung mumbled. It was a lie. He sort of thought he might be dying.

Jiho sighed. "You shouldn’t be working with a fever like that. I’m sorry I made you come in, but…" he gestured to the queue. "I knew we’d have a rush today. The parade does that. Can you hold out a little longer? I promise you can have tomorrow off, one of the others has already agreed to cover for you."

Jisung nodded. The motion made him dizzy. "Sure. Just a few more hours, right?"

"Just a few more hours."

* * *

Jiho paid for a taxi when it was time for Jisung to leave. He tried to protest, but his boss insisted.

"I couldn’t take it if you collapsed in the street, kid. Trust me."

The ride was short, but it felt like an age. Jisung’s limbs were aching, his head in a fog, and he barely had the presence of mind to tell the driver where to stop.

Minho was waiting for him in the flat, pacing back and forth with Saxophone in his arms.  His head snapped to the door when Jisung walked in, and his eyes widened.

"You said you’d come home early if you felt worse!" he accused. "Look at you! You look like you’re about to fall down dead!"

"Not so loud," Jisung mumbled. "My head hurts." He dropped his bag by the door, slouching towards his room.

"Where are you going?"

"Blanket. Cold."

Minho followed him, circling around to press a hand to his forehead. "How are you cold? You feel like someone’s burning coal in your brain."

Jisung’s only response was to carry his pyjamas to the bathroom and close the door. He could see when he glanced in the mirror that he was sweating, but the shivers didn’t seem to stop. He splashed some cold water on his face, and hoped it would help.

Minho had already thrown back the covers, and wrapped an extra blanket around Jisung’s shoulders as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom.

"What?" Jisung muttered. It was all he could find the strength to say.

"I’m looking after you," Minho told him. His tone was steady, but Jisung was too exhausted to wonder if he picked up a hint of worry there.

"‘K," Jisung mumbled. He fell into bed, feeling Minho’s weight shift the mattress beside him. But he was too tired to protest, too heavy and dizzy to ask why, and he found himself falling into a fitful sleep before he could even think too deeply about it.

If he felt Minho settle close behind him, chest pressed against his back; if he noticed Minho’s hand slide cautiously over his waist to press a palm against his sternum, feeling the steady beat of his heart; if he heard a whispered goodnight- he didn’t remember it in the morning.

* * *

Jisung didn’t wake until past noon the next day. Minho was sitting beside him, nursing a cup of tea and staring at the wall.

"Thought you didn’t like tea," Jisung croaked. His throat felt like it had been shredded.

Minho nearly dropped the mug. "You’re awake! I was worried you’d died."

Jisung shook his head. "Not yet. Going back to sleep."

"Do you need anything?"

"Nah. Could get cold medicine from Changbin, but… swoosh," he said nonsensically.

"Swoosh? Jisung? What does that mean?" Minho asked, but Jisung was already asleep.

* * *

It took another two days for Jisung to get well enough to move around. He had woken briefly to call Jiho and explain, falling asleep again almost immediately after. Minho was providing him with a steady supply of tea, ramen, and worried glances, and Jisung was grateful for it. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if he’d been by himself.  _ If Minho hadn’t been here, you wouldn’t have sat out in the rain for half an hour feeling sorry for yourself, _ some mean little voice said. But he felt Saxophone snuggle into his chest, purring and kneading the sheets, and the voice faded. Jisung would never have found him if not for Minho, and who knew what might have happened to him then?

"Have you been out looking for your friend?" he asked Minho once he was lucid enough to stay awake for more than an hour at a time.

Minho looked at him like he was insane. "No," he said. "I’ve been here. With you. Because you’ve been… like this."

Jisung felt shame flood his stomach. Minho had been taking such good care of him, and all Jisung had done was slow him down. He had asked Jisung to help him that first night, but he’d done nothing but hinder Minho’s search from the start.

_ he probably hates you for it _ _   
_ _ imagine how quickly he’d have found his friend without you _

"Don’t," Minho said quietly, and when Jisung looked up, the angel was staring at him intently. Jisung couldn’t stand the weight of it, and he looked away. "Whatever you’re thinking, stop it." Jisung couldn’t think of what to say to that, so he stayed silent, scratching Saxophone’s head gently. "You’re not kind to yourself. I can tell."

"I can’t help it sometimes."

"I know, I just… I don’t like to see it. I don’t like to see you sad." His hand settled next to Jisung’s, their pinky fingers brushing, and Jisung felt his face warm a little. Minho seemed to genuinely care. It was an odd realisation, before he remembered yet again what Minho was. It was easy to forget, under all his strangeness and blunt words, that he was built to forgive, to be kind. It wasn’t his fault that these little kindnesses made Jisung’s heart flutter like a hummingbird.

"Well," he said quickly, withdrawing his hand a little, "you can go looking for him now! I’m going to go out to buy some real food, anyway."

Minho gave him a long look. "Is ramen not real food?" he asked eventually. "Is it made of rocks or something?"

Jisung laughed at the absurdity of the question. "No, it’s food, it just… isn’t very good for me, in the long term. I need to buy vegetables."

Minho frowned. "I’ve never understood why humans invent things that are bad for you."

"Because they’re easier. Or because they make us feel good." Apparently the answer wasn’t satisfactory, because Minho rolled his eyes.

"We’re almost out of formula milk, too," he said, wandering out of the room with a mewling Saxophone batting at his wing feathers. Jisung took that as a request to buy some, and started a list on his phone. He texted Jiho while he was at it, saying that he was feeling better, and apologising for his absence. He sighed. He hadn’t counted on taking this many days off work. The amount of food he bought would probably reflect that.

* * *

Jisung ended up buying enough food for one meal a day, along with the formula milk for Saxophone. It wasn’t bad; he’d had worse times. He didn’t think Minho knew how human meal times worked, anyway, so it wasn’t something he’d be called out on.

Then again, he thought as he waited in line, Minho had been oddly attentive while he was ill. Even now that he was recovering, Minho was constantly close. He had respected Jisung’s request to be asked before he was touched, but that only meant that the two of them didn’t go five minutes without Minho asking if he could hold Jisung’s hand, or sleep on his shoulder. Even when he wasn’t touching him, Minho was  _ close _ . Jisung sighed. This wasn’t good for his heart. He had given in to the idea that he’d developed some kind of tentative feelings for the angel, for his kindness and strangeness and curiosity, and Minho’s constant contact was only making it worse. Jisung knew that he could say no, of course; but the way his heart jumped when Minho took his hand, along with the angel’s odd, faintly awed expression, made it hard to deny.

Jisung sighed again. It wouldn’t take Minho long to find his friend once he started looking. He would be gone soon enough, and Jisung’s crush with him.

* * *

Minho left to find Woojin later that night. He had brushed off Jisung’s careful explanation of security cameras, saying that people would simply see a man in a costume, if they even cared to look. Even his soft, reassuring smile as he stepped onto the fire escape didn’t do much to assuage Jisung’s fear for him.

Jisung had wanted to watch Minho fly, but had decided against it once Minho had announced that he’d have to take off from the roof.

"Are you scared of heights?" Minho had asked, half teasing and half genuine curiosity. "I am, if you’d believe it."

"Something like that," Jisung had replied, and Minho had given him one of those long, searching looks he was so good at.

"I’d catch you if you fell," he had said eventually, words so secret and sincere that Jisung had frozen in place until Minho had moved away, his wing brushing Jisung’s shoulder as he headed for the door.

So, Jisung waved goodbye as Minho ascended the stairs, occasionally swinging down over the railing to wave again. It made Jisung’s heart jump even as he laughed at the strangeness of Minho’s antics.

The flat felt empty without him. Saxophone seemed confused, wobbling around on little legs and mewing pathetically until Jisung scooped him up and held him to his chest.

"He’ll be back soon," he murmured to the kitten, ignoring the bitter taste of the words on his tongue. Minho would leave. Jisung looked around his flat, felt the silence of the radio and the lack of warmth, the stillness of the air with no wings stirring it. He should get used to this, he told himself, even as it made his chest tighten.

There was a chance Minho would find his friend tonight, Jisung realised. Would he leave right away? Would he wait until the morning, or would he prefer the cover of darkness? Jisung felt his heart twist at the thought of Minho not even staying for another dawn, and he gently lowered Saxophone to the ground so he could press the heels of his hands into his eyes. Did Minho know, he wondered? Had he realised that Jisung wanted him to stay so badly? Had he seen in every small movement, in every shift of his eyes and the rise of goosebumps on his arms, that Jisung was beginning to care for him?

_ of course he knows _ _   
_ _ you’re obvious _ _   
_ _ he just doesn’t care about you in the same way _ _   
_ _ he just doesn’t care about you at all _ _   
_ __ he’ll leave and he won’t care and you’ll be alone and everything will be the same as before

Jisung gritted his teeth. He couldn’t think like this. He’d managed on his own before. Minho leaving wouldn’t change anything.

But the thought pulled at him, unravelled his seams and well-worn stitches, and he was crying before he could figure out how to hold himself together. Minho would leave. Minho would leave and Jisung would have to deal with everything that had happened while he was here. He had lost one job, and could barely afford to keep himself alive with the other. If the increasing letters left by his landlord were anything to go by, he wouldn’t even be able to stay in the place he knew as home. He had no therapy, no back up plan, nothing to catch him if he fell, and Minho was  _ leaving. _

Feeling his breath catch again and again in his throat, Jisung tried to steady himself as his head spun and ached. His chest was starting to burn, vision blurring. He hated this. He  _ hated  _ it. He hated  _ himself _ when he got like this, when everything overwhelmed him and he shut down and fell to pieces and just  _ broke.  _ He couldn’t manage this by himself. He couldn’t do it. He’d come close, sometimes, to falling apart at work, to losing control of all this in a room full of people. It would happen again, he knew, again and again and again until he couldn’t do it, couldn’t stand it, couldn’t-

He called Changbin. It was all he could think to do. His neighbour - his  _ friend _ \- picked up almost immediately.

"Hey, Jisung! Jisung?" Jisung couldn’t speak. He tried, formed some half words that came out as tearful, broken sounds. "Jisung, are you ok?"

"Changbin," he choked out eventually. It was all he could manage.

"Jisung, tell me where you are. Please, Jisung, just tell me where." He could hear the controlled panic in Changbin’s tone, careful and trembling like a moth upon the pavement. Jisung couldn’t answer, trying his best to breathe. “Jisung,” Changbin said again, and his voice was less steady now, bright and insistent and fearful.

"Flat," Jisung said shakily before a fresh bout of tears shook his voice from him.

"I’m on my way," Changbin said, and within moments there was a knock on the door. "Jisung?" he called, and the duality of the sound through the door and down the phone made Jisung feel sick. Leaving his phone on the floor, he stumbled to the door and unlocked it, sitting down heavily as it swung open.

Changbin was by his side in an instant. Jisung let him take his hands and manoeuvre him around, checking for any sign of injury. "Are you ok? Did you- you didn’t take anything, or-" Jisung shook his head, trying to convey without words that he was fine. Saxophone trotted up, squeaking, and Changbin carefully picked him up.

"Hey, who’s this?" he asked, lifting the kitten to his shoulder so it could rub its face against his chin. He waited patiently for Jisung to speak, laid a soothing hand on his back as he choked on his breath and his words.

"Saxophone," Jisung said roughly.

"That’s his name? Did you name him?" Jisung’s face crumpled, and he shook his head. "Ok," Changbin said soothingly, words still fragile with fear. "We don’t want to talk about that. Ok. Come on, you’re staying at mine tonight."

He helped Jisung gather some clothes and his toothbrush, and led him carefully down the corridor. Saxophone purred on his shoulder the whole time, and happily curled up on the makeshift bed Changbin made up for Jisung while the two of them waited for the kettle to boil.

Jisung was grateful that Changbin didn’t ask about why he had been so upset. He was still crying intermittently, and his hands shook so badly he had dropped his phone four times, but the moment was passing slowly. Changbin ignored him in a gentle, patient way, giving him the space he needed, taking his hand or holding him only if Jisung reached out. Changbin had always been good at that; he could be silly, or loud, but when it came down to it, he was one of the most empathetic people Jisung had ever met. He understood what people needed, and Jisung needed space, and calm, and quiet. Just for now.

Just until he could convince himself he’d be ok.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a mention of past suicidal thoughts in this chapter! And for anyone who wants to know, the song that Jisung chooses is Conversations With Ghosts by Bear's Den; it was one of my favourites around the time I was writing this <3

Minho seemed almost frantic when Jisung stepped back into his flat early the next morning. Changbin had asked, carefully, if Jisung wanted to talk, but Jisung had declined. Becoming dependent on someone was part of what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

But he hadn’t expected Minho to be quite so invested in him, if he was honest.

"Jisung! Where have you been? I came back and you just… you weren’t here. And Saxophone was gone, and you didn’t leave a note… I’ve been waiting all night." He had moved closer as he spoke, one hand resting at the point where Jisung’s shoulder met his neck. The simple sensation made Jisung’s veins hum with a heady mixture of fear and foolish joy, but the intensity of Minho’s eyes froze him where he stood, stopping him from pulling away. It was like staring into a cloudless sky, just as bright and inevitable and unbearable as that endless blue.

 _this doesn’t mean anything_ _  
_ _he just doesn’t understand human boundaries_ _  
_ _he feels none of this_ _  
_ _you’re stupid to feel it_ _  
_ _you’re stupid to want this_

"Did you find your friend?" Jisung asked after the silence had suspended for as long as it could. The question made Minho’s eyes widen, and Jisung did his best not to stare at the gentle part of his lips, the soft pink of fading sunsets, as he huffed out an incredulous laugh.

"I asked you a question first. Answer it."

"That’s childish."

"So?"

"You’re an angel. You must be thousands of years old. Too old to be childish."

"Doesn’t change the fact that I asked you a question."

"I stayed at Changbin’s," Jisung explained with a sigh. "I didn’t want to leave Saxophone by himself, so I took him with me." He pulled away a little as Minho’s fingertips pressed, just slightly, into the back of his neck. It was a strange response, and Minho seemed to realise that, pulling his hand away with an odd, veiled expression.

"Why did you stay with him? Are you still not well?" he asked.

Jisung shook his head. "The fever’s gone. I just… wanted to."

"Oh," Minho said.There was something terse about the word, and it hovered in the air for a while, small and lonely and defensive. "I didn’t find him. In answer to your question."

"Will you go back out tomorrow night?" Jisung asked. He was so relieved he could barely get the words out. The guilt that accompanied the relief was crippling, hitting him in the stomach so hard he thought he’d stop breathing.

 _he’s only here to find Woojin, remember_ _  
_ _how can you feel happy about something like this?_ _  
_ _you’re happy because his friend is missing_ _  
_ _just because it means he’ll stay longer_ _  
_ _he’s not here for you_ _  
_ _he’ll never be here for you_

"I will," Minho said with a sigh. "I’ll need to clean my wings first, they got so _dusty_ out there. How do you live in this smog?"

"I thought the air was fairly clean here," Jisung said in surprise, and Minho shot him a withering look.

"Maybe this is clean by human standards, but not mine. Do you have any oil? Scented, preferably."

"Um… I think so." Jisung hurried to the bathroom, digging through the cupboard for a box. He brought it out to Minho, handing it over. "Is this ok? It’s jasmine."

Minho frowned, turning the box over in his hands. "This looks like a gift."

"It was," Jisung admitted. "But I don’t really take baths, so… I haven’t used it."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why don’t you take baths?"

"That’s a weird question."

"That’s not an answer."

Jisung sighed. They weren’t about to start that again. "They make me nervous. Something about being submerged in hot water makes my heart beat way too fast, and then I think I’ll fall asleep and drown, and… it defeats the point. They’re supposed to be relaxing…" He trailed off, embarrassed, but Minho was only smiling at him. It didn’t appear to be a mocking smile, and it seemed even less so when Minho reached out to lightly touch his cheek. He had that strange expression on his face again, gentle and oddly intense, and Jisung felt his breath catch a little when Minho’s fingertips brushed the softness of his cheek.

"You worry too much," Minho said quietly.

Jisung laughed awkwardly. "Yeah," he agreed. "It’s been an issue for a while."

"Thank you for the oil," Minho said, withdrawing his hand and stepping away. "I’ll clean them later. I need sleep more than I need clean wings." Jisung swallowed, immediately conscious of the space between them, fighting the urge to draw closer again. He hated this.

"Sure. I- I need to get to work. I’ll see you later. Sleep well."

Minho hummed in agreement, turning the bottle of oil over in his hands, and Jisung closed the door behind him awkwardly. He let out a sigh once he thought he was out of earshot. That whole interaction had been… strange. The two halves of his brain were battling, one still insisting that Minho didn’t care, the other reliving every moment of that gentle touch, of Minho’s fingertips against his neck and his cheek.

Jisung stopped on the stairs, closed his eyes for a moment. His heart was beating so hard it was making him dizzy, head running in circles at top speed. He couldn’t think about this right now. He had to get to work.

* * *

"You sure you’re eating ok?" Jiho asked him for the third time. Jisung had taken a moment to sit down after a dizzy spell, and was working his way slowly through a pastry his boss had handed him. "Did your other job drop your pay or something?"

"Lost it," Jisung admitted quietly. "The shop closed."

"Oh, Jisung," Jiho sighed. "I’m sorry."

"It’s not your fault," Jisung said softly. "Don’t worry about it."

"I always worry about you, Jisung. You work the hardest out of all the part timers, and you just… you never seem to stop. You never seem to give yourself a break." Jisung stared at the floor, and Jiho sighed. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just want you to be ok, you know that?"

"I know," Jisung mumbled. "I’m sorry."

"Don’t apologise, just… take an extra day off a week, ok?" Jisung’s head shot up, ready to protest, explain that he couldn’t manage with a day’s less income, and Jiho stopped him. "Take a day off the _counter_ , on the condition that you come in here and play guitar. You’re still working for me, I can still pay you, and to be honest I’ve been thinking I need to spend more time with customers. I just… I want to see you fulfilling that dream of yours, ok? I think it’ll make you feel better. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah," Jisung said, voice thick. He thought he might cry.

"Ok," Jiho said, patting his shoulder gently. "Take five minutes to finish eating, but then I really need you on the counter."

Jisung nodded, and Jiho disappeared with a final kind smile. Jisung sighed around a mouthful of his pastry. Jiho’s offer was beyond kind, but he didn’t know how much good it would do in the long run. Still. It would be nice to have an opportunity to play again, even if the thought made his heart leap into his throat. It had been so long since anyone had listened.

* * *

Jisung didn’t tell Minho that he’d nearly fainted at work. Minho seemed to know something was wrong, looking up occasionally from cleaning his wings to stare intently at him, but he didn’t ask for a good three hours, once both his wings were soaked and shining with oil, the flat scented heavily with jasmine.

"Did something happen today?" he asked, and Jisung jolted in his chair.

"I- sort of," Jisung replied.

Minho waited. Jisung didn’t say anything else. "What was it?" the angel prompted, moving closer to lean on the table beside him. One of his wings circled the back of Jisung’s chair, and the smell of jasmine, along with the way Minho questioningly reached out a hand to touch Jisung’s hair, made him a little dizzy.

"My boss offered to let me play guitar in the shop. To earn some extra money, or publicity."

Minho frowned, carding his fingers softly through Jisung’s hair. "You don’t seem happy about that," he said.

Jisung shrugged. "I don’t know. I just wasn’t expecting it. I haven’t really played for a while. Not properly."

"Play something for me now," Minho suggested. He must have felt Jisung tense, because he let his hand drift down to the back of his neck, rubbing soft circles in the first jut of his spine with a thumb. "You don’t have to. I’d just like to hear you play."

Something about the touch settled Jisung a little. It was strange; he didn’t often find comfort in contact, but something about Minho, even as his heart beat faster, calmed him. Perhaps it was an angel thing, like the nights he helped Jisung sleep. "I can do one song," he conceded softly. "But I might mess it up."

"That’s ok," Minho said quietly. "I’d like to listen anyway." Jisung nodded, somehow afraid to meet the softness in Minho’s eyes. It was becoming more and more common, that gentleness, even in the midst of his absurd comments and strange actions. Jisung wondered if he looked at Minho in a similar way.

 _he must know how you feel_ _  
_ _he doesn’t feel the same_ _  
_ _why would he even think about you that way?_ _  
_ _who are you to be worth his time?_

He cleared his throat. "I’ll- I’ll go get my guitar." He hurried out of the room before Minho could reply, the scent of jasmine trailing after him into his bedroom. He lifted his guitar from its spot in the corner, leaned carefully against the wall. A week’s worth of dust had settled over it, and Jisung realised that he hadn’t played since Minho had arrived.

Minho was waiting patiently on the sofa when he arrived, wings hooked over the backrest and brushing the floor. He looked up from scratching Saxophone’s chin, fixing Jisung with that same soft smile, and Jisung’s heart stuttered in his chest. He looked away.

"Like I said," he mumbled, "it might not be very good." He settled into a chair, adjusting the weight of his guitar in his hands, and took a deep breath. For a moment, the only sound was Saxophone, purring loudly on Minho’s lap.

Jisung began to play. "You needn't be a chamber," he sang, "to house all the echoes and voices of those that have left you. Are you talking to me or somebody that you once knew; passing through?" He didn’t look up until the song was done, the last notes humming on through the air as he let them fade. He was trembling, he noticed vaguely, as he glanced up, afraid to see Minho’s reaction.

Minho’s expression was difficult to read. He looked, to Jisung… _captivated_. The way he was staring, as though he had never witnessed anything quite like this, as though his heart were drawn to it, as though he never wanted to let this moment go. But there was something else there, sparkling in the depths like fool’s gold; confusion, and something a little like fear. Jisung waited, turning his gaze to the floor. He didn’t know what to say.

"That was beautiful," he heard Minho say. His voice was soft, as though he could barely find the words, and when Jisung looked up to thank him, the angel’s eyes were shining.

"I-" Jisung began, but the words wouldn’t come.

"I mean it, Jisung. I’ve lived among angels, but the way you sing…" Minho stopped, looking a little lost. "I can’t explain it."

"That’s ok," Jisung said quickly. He wasn’t sure he could handle more compliments, if he were entirely honest. "Thank you for listening."

Minho smiled, bright and honest, and Jisung couldn’t help smiling back. "They’ll love you. When you sing at the shop."

"I hope so," Jisung muttered.

"They will," Minho said, and the honesty in his tone and in his eyes made Jisung blush.

"Thanks," he said. "I should- I have an early start tomorrow. And you need to look for Woojin, so..." He headed quickly back to his room, feeling Minho’s eyes on his back until the door closed. Jisung leaned back against it, letting his head run in circles around the look in Minho’s eyes.

 _captivated? Why would he be_ captivated _by you?_ _  
_ _no one has ever looked at you that way_ _  
_ _it was just the song, not you_ _  
_ _but he said he loved the way you sang_ _  
_ _he’s never heard a human sing just for him. that’s all it is_

Jisung sighed, letting his head fall back against the door. Maybe tonight. Maybe Minho would find Woojin tonight, and that would be the end of it. Part of him hoped that was how this would go. But stronger than that, stronger than the need to have some peace for his poor heart, was the desire for Minho to stay, stay for days or weeks or months or forever. Jisung sighed again and closed his eyes. He was so screwed.

* * *

Minho didn’t find Woojin that night. Or the next night. Or the next. Every morning for the next two weeks, Jisung found him sitting at the table, nursing a mug of tea that the two of them would then share, Jisung reading out more wikipedia articles about historical figures or events, before Jisung went to work. Minho still made a face after every sip, insisting that he didn’t like the taste. Jisung found his determination to keep drinking it strangely endearing.

Some nights, when Jisung’s head wouldn’t let him rest, when thoughts of being alone were too much, too big, too empty, he knocked on Changbin’s door. Changbin always seemed happy to have him and Saxophone round (Jisung was still sacrificing his own food budget for cat food. He wasn’t sure when he’d stop), cheerfully chatting about a strange, maybe delusional boy he was developing something of a crush on and showing Jisung photos of him, but there was always something in Minho’s expression that Jisung couldn’t place when he explained where he’d spent the night.

"Do you not like Changbin?" Jisung asked him eventually. The two of them were curled on the sofa, Jisung feeling too lethargic to move after a day spent searching the city for job adverts. Most of his budget was going on the increasing amount of food Saxophone needed rather than his own meals. He was exhausted, and hungry, and he just needed a little more money. Just enough that reading the letters from his landlord wouldn’t send him spiralling.

Minho shifted a little, careful not to dislodge Jisung’s head from his shoulder. "I’ve never met Changbin," he said.

"I know. But you just seem a little tense when I talk about him."

"I just don’t like you disappearing," Minho said after a moment. "I like having you here."

 _he doesn’t mean it like that_ _  
_ _you’re just the only person he knows here_ _  
_ _he just needs you to tell him how things work_

"You know I’m safe with him, though," Jisung said tiredly. "I’m always safe with Changbin."

"I know," was Minho’s only response. It sounded strained. Jisung didn’t really have the strength to figure out why.

"Do you want me to stay here more?" he asked. He would, he thought, if Minho wanted. Panic attacks and fear of being alone aside.

"No, Jisung," Minho said softly. "I want you to do what makes you feel best. If that’s staying with Changbin, then stay with Changbin. Ok?"

"Ok," Jisung murmured. He felt Minho shift, thought for a moment he felt the pressure of a kiss on the top of his head. _No_ , he thought. _That doesn’t make sense. You’re imagining things._ He soon forgot, lost in a haze of exhaustion, and he only awoke when Minho lifted him carefully off the sofa and carried him to his room.

"Sleep well," he thought he heard Minho whisper. He didn’t manage to reply before sleep took him again.

* * *

Somehow, Jisung ended up leaving the flat at the same time as Changbin the next day. 

"Woah," Changbin said. "You late?"

"No," Jisung reassured him. "I’m starting late today." He held up his guitar. "Playing instead of baking. My boss’ idea." He had been nervous, Minho taking half an hour to calm him down before he left, soothing words and soft touches setting off a different kind of panic.

Changbin’s eyes widened. "No way! That’s so cool. I’ll come visit you if I get an hour at work, ok?"

"That sounds great," Jisung said, smiling. It really did, he realised. It would be nice to see a familiar face.

"You’re going to do great!" Changbin called as they parted ways a few streets later, jumping to be seen above the growing crowd between them. Jisung laughed as he turned heads with his antics, heart lighter than it had been before.

His first shift playing guitar in the bakery went better than expected; he knew the shop, he supposed. He knew the customers, the setting, the way the light came in in the afternoon. It made him less nervous, he found, to be somewhere familiar.

And it was good to play again. To get lost in music, in rhythms he knew well, the beauty he could make. At some point, Jiho placed an empty jam jar beside him for customers to throw in tips, and the rattle of coins served as an intermittent accompaniment to his playing. He sang once or twice, softly, and he couldn’t help thinking about Minho as he did so. _I’ve lived among angels, but the way you sing…_

Jisung still didn’t know what to make of that.

"Hey. You sing love songs pretty well. Someone you’ve got your eye on?" Jisung glanced up at the familiar voice. He couldn’t hold back a smile at the sight of Changbin. "Let me buy you a coffee."

"I’ll take a tea, thanks," Jisung replied. "Coffee doesn’t sit right with me."

"Tea it is," Changbin confirmed, and wandered off towards the counter. Jisung watched him go with a faint smile on his face. Changbin had come to watch him. His friend had come to hear him play. He felt… loved.

"So," Changbin said to him once they were seated at the table in the corner, "there is a guy, right?"

Jisung sighed. He couldn’t exactly explain that there was an angel in his apartment. "Yes," he said eventually. "There’s a guy."

"Ooh," Changbin said, tapping out a drumroll on the table. "How long’s it been going on?"

"A few weeks, I guess. But we’re not… we’re not together. I don’t think he likes me like that."

"Why wouldn’t he like you? Is he straight?"

"I have literally no idea," Jisung admitted. He really didn’t know. Did angels have distinct sexualities? Did they even want people in that way?

"Ok, so. Straight or gay aside. Why do you think he doesn’t like you?"

Jisung sighed, staring down into his tea. He didn’t know how to explain this. "He’s just… he’s better than me, Changbin. And I don’t mean that in a self-deprecating way, I swear I don’t, I just… have you ever met someone who just shone? And you know you’ll never match up? He’s like that."

He glanced up in the following silence. Watched Changbin sit back in his chair, fixing him in place with a level stare. "You really think the world of him, don’t you?" Changbin asked softly.

Jisung nodded. "He’s… he’s everything, Changbin. He’s saving me. And he’s going to leave soon and I don’t know what I’m going to do." He was surprised by how level his voice was. Normally the thought of Minho leaving would make him cry, make him shake and sob and fall to pieces. Perhaps he was just too tired of his mind running circles around it.

He felt Changbin’s hand settle over his own. "I’ll be here, Jisung. If he goes, and you need help, I’ll be here."

"I know," Jisung managed to say. "Thank you."

"You don’t need to thank me. I’m your friend. It’s kind of my job to be there for you."

"Yeah, well…" Jisung muttered. "How are things going with your boy? You made a move yet?"

Changbin laughed sheepishly. "Felix? I mean... kind of? I think we’ve been going on dates, but I don’t know if he just thinks we’re hanging out, you know? He’s hanging out with another guy a lot. Someone named Chan. I don’t know if they’re a thing.” He sighed. “I’m not even sure he’s into guys."

"So you’ve not told him you like him?"

"Have you told your crush?" Changbin shot back.

"Fair point," Jisung conceded.

Changbin shook his head, smiling softly. "We’re a right pair, aren’t we?"

"We are," Jisung agreed. "But I think you maybe have a shot with Felix. Trust me, my guy is _way_ too far out of my league."

"I think you underestimate yourself," Changbin said gently. "Have you noticed that every girl who comes in here looks at you before anyone else? You’re a handsome guy, Jisung. You play guitar, you sing, you take in stray cats… if your guy thinks he’s better than you, he’s an idiot."

Jisung didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t meet Changbin’s eyes, couldn’t handle the honesty there. "Thanks," he said softly. "Not for that. For everything else. For being my friend."

"You don’t need to thank me," Changbin repeated. "You bring your cat to my flat, that’s all the thanks I need."

Jisung couldn’t help but laugh at that. "I’ll bring him around again soon. He’s getting big now."

"Tomorrow evening? I’m busy tonight."

"Tomorrow’s good. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t cancel because you’re seeing Felix." Changbin flushed pink as he got up to leave, and Jisung found himself smiling for a long while after he’d left.

It would hurt when Minho left, he thought. It would tear him to pieces. But at least he thought he could trust Changbin to help him put himself back together.

* * *

Minho was waiting for Jisung almost at the door; he jumped back when Jisung entered, smiling hopefully.

"How did it go?" he asked. "Did you have a good day?" Jisung nodded, and Minho’s smile grew wider still. "Tell me everything." Minho curled close as Jisung recounted the day on the sofa, fingers laced between Jisung’s, soft comments and laughter close to his ear.

 _you know he doesn’t mean it like that_ _  
_ _he doesn’t care for you like you do for him_ _  
_ _he’ll leave you soon_

Minho was silent for a moment when Jisung mentioned Changbin. "He came to see you?" he asked quietly. "That’s kind of him." Something in his tone struck against Jisung’s mind, and he pulled away.

"You really don’t like him, do you?"

Minho shuffled closer, resting his head on Jisung’s shoulder again. "I think I like him very much," he said softly. "He makes you happy."

"He does," Jisung agreed. "He saved my life."

"He did what?" Minho asked, concern colouring his tone. Jisung paused. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned this. But maybe he needed to say it.

"I… I was going to kill myself," he said eventually, voice small and shaking. Felt Minho stiffen beside him. "Last year. I called him when I was on the roof. He came and coaxed me down. Helped me get back on my feet."

"Jisung…" It appeared to be all Minho could say for a moment, and Jisung worried that perhaps he had upset him too much, pushed him away with the idea that there was more wrong with Jisung than he could fix. But Minho just held Jisung tighter, pulling him into an embrace. "Jisung. I’m so very proud of you."

"What?"

"I’m proud of you," Minho said again, words aching with sincerity. "For surviving. For asking when you needed someone. For staying." He pressed his forehead against Jisung’s, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. "I’ve seen it time and time again, Jisung," he said, voice halting just a little as he spoke. "Humans arriving with us when they’ve given up. When they’ve... gotten tired. And fallen down. And it’s not their fault, I understand that. I- I see the pain in them. The depth of it, the way it swallows them whole. It tears me apart to see it." He pulled back a little, looking Jisung in the eyes. He was close enough that Jisung could feel his breath, delicate as snowfall, against his skin. "But they regret it, Jisung. Every single one of them looks down from their place with us and sees something worth surviving for. Something they missed while they were alive, or something that in the moment of their darkest hour seemed like too small a light to matter. So I’m proud of you, Jisung. For searching for that light. _Thank you_ for searching for it."

Jisung couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what he could say that would do justice to the raw sincerity in Minho’s voice. There were no words for this. No words for someone he cared for, someone so lovely as Minho, _thanking_ him just for staying alive. So he closed his eyes, and did his best not to cry.

"Jisung. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Don’t be sad. Please."

"I’m not _sad_ ," Jisung managed to say, voice blurred by tears. "How can I be sad when you say things like that?"

"Oh. Oh, ok. Happy tears?"

"Happy tears. Something tears. I don’t know. Not sad tears."

"Ok," Minho murmured. "As long as you’re not sad. I couldn’t bear to make you sad, Jisung."

"You never make me sad," Jisung said softly. "I don’t think you could." He got to his feet before Minho could answer, throwing him a watery smile. "I’m going for a shower. I’ll see you later."

"Sure," Minho agreed, still holding his hand. "Later." He seemed reluctant to let go, fingers trailing through Jisung’s as he walked away.

Jisung tried not to think too hard about that.

* * *

Standing beneath the flow of the shower, Jisung couldn’t seem to stop crying. The tears weren’t gentle; they tore through him, making his chest ache and his knees weak. He wasn’t even sure why he was crying. He’d meant it when he’d told Minho he wasn’t sad. This wasn’t sorrow. This was something deeper, something more pure; this was Minho pulling Jisung’s soul out of his throat and holding it in his hands as though it were something lovely, something to be admired from every angle.

It had meant something he couldn’t explain, to hear someone like Minho say those things. That he was proud of Jisung for just reaching out when he’d been on the edge. Jisung had always seen that whole period of his life as a failure. He had been weak, and tired, and had almost lost completely. And Minho _didn’t care_. Minho didn’t care that Jisung had fallen to pieces so completely. He just cared that he’d asked for someone to help him. Taken one last step when he had seemed too tired to go on. Given himself a chance.

Minho had _thanked_ him for that.

And Jisung just kept on crying.

Minho seemed concerned when Jisung finally emerged from the shower. Perhaps his eyes were still red, he thought. Or perhaps it was that he had wandered in with a towel draped around his shoulders, needing to retrieve a shirt from the laundry. He’d always been careful never to get changed around Minho; he was self conscious enough about his body without having an angel stare at it.

He jumped when he felt Minho’s hand on his back. "Sorry," the angel said, backing away a few steps. "Sorry, sorry, I forgot about the touching thing."

Jisung clutched his towel to his chest. He really didn’t like being shirtless in front of Minho. "Why were you touching me anyway?"

"No wings," Minho said softly. "I just… I’ve seen humans before, but not- people don’t tend to walk around shirtless when they’re with us, and I just…" hesitantly, he reached out a hand. "No wings."

Slowly, Jisung turned. Let Minho press a palm against his back, where wings would sprout if he had them. Tried not to shiver as Minho slowly ran his hand up along his spine. "So strange," the angel said softly. "You truly weren’t built to fly."

"No," Jisung said quickly, stepping away and turning to face him as he did so, "I wasn’t. I’m just human."

Minho gave him a long look. "You’re not _just_ anything, Jisung. You should speak more kindly of yourself."

"I don’t find that the easiest thing."

"I know," Minho said gently. "But you can learn. If you try."

Jisung tried to smile, crouching to pull a t-shirt from the dryer. Sometimes, the way Minho spoke to him made him think there was something more behind his words. Something holy, between the two of them. "Maybe," he said. "I’m going to bed. Are you going out again?"

Minho nodded. "I need to find him, Jisung. I know he’s close, I just- I just can’t get to him."

"Do you think he’s ok?"

"I don’t know." He sighed. "I really don’t. Which is why I have to find him."

"Good luck," Jisung said, ignoring the way the words stuck in his throat. Minho was going to find Woojin. Minho was going to leave him. Jisung would be alone.

Before he could think further, Minho laid a hand on his cheek. It was a familiar touch; Minho did it often, but something in his expression was different. If he were human, Jisung would have thought Minho was going to kiss him.

"Thank you," he said, eyes sparkling like rain in the moonlight. "Thank you for everything, Jisung."

"Not a problem," Jisung managed to say. "I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe."

"You will. Even if I find him, I’ll come to say goodbye."

Somehow, Jisung found that he believed him. And for the first time in a while, sleep came easily.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slight insight into the 3In storyline, which will be covered in a later work!
> 
> The final chapter of this story SHOULD be posted on Thursday, but I'm not 100% sure; depending on when I actually have time to sit down with my laptop, it may end up being Friday. Thank you for reading <3

Jisung was awoken by the sound of a mug breaking. He swung his legs out of bed, creeping towards the door to hear Minho muttering in the kitchen. There was something strange in his tone; if it weren’t Minho, Jisung would assume that he was swearing.

Carefully, he pushed open the door. Minho was crouched down, using his wings to push away a curious Saxophone as he picked up pieces of ceramic from the floor.

"Leave it," Jisung said softly, and Minho looked up guiltily. "You’ll cut yourself. I’ll sweep it up."

"I’m sorry," Minho said. "I just- I lost my focus, I-" He stopped. Sighed.

"Are you ok?" Jisung asked.

Minho scooped Saxophone into his arms, ignoring his indignant chirp. "I found Woojin," he said, and the words froze Jisung in place. This was a goodbye. That was why Minho seemed strange. He had found Woojin, and he was going to leave.

"He’s living with a human," Minho continued. "I think… there’s something between them, I think. I’ve never seen him like that."

Jisung couldn’t find it in him to ask what he meant.

_ he’s leaving _ _   
_ _ this is the last you’ll see of him _ _   
_ _ you’ll never see him again _ _   
_ _ you’re going to be alone again _

"He thinks he’ll Fall," Minho said softly. The concept seemed to knock the air from him. He seemed… lost. "He’s going to Fall, Jisung."

Jisung didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t know how to respond.

_ he has no reason to stay now _ _   
_ _ you’re not enough to make him stay _   
_ you’re going to lose him _ .

"I’m going to lose him," Minho whispered. Jisung tried to shake himself into action. Minho was upset. Minho _ needed _ him.

"What do you mean, Fall?" he asked.

"Lose his wings," Minho explained distantly. "Through original sin."

Original sin. Oh. "The human he’s living with?"

"Mm," Minho hummed softly, staring somewhere past Jisung’s shoulder. "He loves him, Jisung. You should have seen him. The way Woojin looked at him. The way he held him in his sleep."

_ he holds you,  _ Jisung’s mind supplied unhelpfully.  _ when you sleep, Minho sometimes holds you. _ "He’s not going back with you, then?" Jisung asked.

Minho sighed. "I’m not going back."

"What?"

"I can’t. Not when Woojin might need me." He met Jisung’s eyes, soft and pleading and afraid. Jisung had never seen him look afraid before. "Can I stay here a while longer?"

"Of course," Jisung said, trying to ignore the strength of relief weakening his knees. Minho was staying. Jisung didn’t have to live without him. "As long as you need."

Minho had wrapped his arms around him before he could step away; the angel held him tight, clinging to him like he was the only safety he knew. "Thank you," he whispered in Jisung’s ear. "Thank you."

"It’s not a problem. Will you be staying in tonight, then?"

"I suppose I will," Minho said softly. "It’ll be nice to see you more. You’re mostly at work when I’m here." Jisung couldn’t hold back the echo of a smile at that. Minho was happy to be around him. Minho wanted to spend more time with him. He’d have to call Changbin, he realised. Cancel their plans for the evening. He couldn’t leave Minho when he was this upset.

Minho insisted on watching Jisung use the phone. "How does it work?" he asked, close to his shoulder. "Changbin’s not in there, is he?"

"Shh- oh, sorry Changbin, my friend’s just messing around. I know we were going to hang out tonight, but I’m going to have to cancel; emergency, you know? Yeah, I’m fine, everything’s fine. Someone just needs me tonight. How about you? How did your date go?"

_ Date? _ Minho mouthed as Jisung listened to Changbin rattle on excitedly about Felix. Jisung smiled. Of course Minho didn’t know what a date was.

"You had a good time, then? Hey, you could hang out with him again tonight. I’m not kidding! Text him. Come  _ on _ , Changbin. You’ve got to make a move sometime. If it doesn’t work out, you can stay friends. Ok. I’ve got a day off coming up, I’ll pop into your shop if I have time? No, not to get a tattoo! My pain tolerance is  _ so _ low. Ok. Bye."

Minho reached for his phone as soon as he hung up. Jisung held it back. "No. If you’re going to learn to use this, I’m going to teach you step by step. No just randomly pressing buttons and texting my parents by accident."

"What’s a text?"

"It’s like an electronic letter. You’ve seen me use my phone before. Why are you only asking this now?"

Minho shrugged. "Last time you did that-"

"Called someone?"

"Last time you  _ called someone _ you went straight back to sleep. You were sick. I couldn’t ask."   


"Fair enough. Any other questions?"

"What’s a date?"

Jisung sighed. "It’s like… hanging out with someone, but romantically. Courting, I guess."

"Changbin’s courting someone?" Minho asked. His tone seemed a little overly casual, bright with curiosity.

"He is," Jisung said. "Not that he’s doing very well. He’s head over heels for this guy but just won’t make any kind of move." Minho stared at him blankly. "He won’t confess," Jisung explained. "Or even drop hints that he’s interested in him romantically."

"Why not?"

"He’s scared he’ll be rejected. It can be… risky. With guys, especially. I don’t know if Felix knows that Changbin is gay, and he might not like it if he did. People can be cruel about things like that."

"Are you gay?" Minho asked bluntly. Jisung nearly choked. It was, by Minho’s standards, a harmless question. But with Jisung feeling the way he did about Minho… it felt wrong, somehow. To admit to it.

"Yes," he said after a moment. "I am."

"Oh," Minho said. "No one’s been cruel to you for it, have they?"

"My parents don’t like it," Jisung told him. "But my parents don’t like many things I do, so it’s not so much of an issue."

"But you’re their child," Minho pointed out. He seemed genuinely confused. "Why would they dislike you?"

"We’re not getting into that," Jisung said with a sigh. "Some parents aren’t kind to their kids. That’s how being human works."

"I wish I could help you," Minho murmured. He seemed genuinely sad. Jisung hated it when that happened. When Minho was sad for him.

"You do," Jisung said. On a whim, he reached for Minho’s hand. "You do help me. But let me help you, now. Stay as long as you need to. To keep an eye on Woojin."  _ Not because you want to be near me. Because he needs you. That’s why you’re staying. _

"It might be a while. If he’s going to Fall, I want to be here for the aftermath," Minho said quietly.

"Then stay. It’s not like I have to feed you," Jisung joked weakly, trying to ignore the relief that flooded his bones again at the thought of Minho staying with him.

"Thank you." The sincerity in his tone was almost painful to hear. "Do you have to get to work?"

"Yeah, I do… you going to be ok on your own?"

"I won’t be on my own," Minho said with a tight smile. "I have Saxophone."

"I guess you do," Jisung laughed. "I’ll see you later, ok?"

"Yeah," Minho said softly. "Later."

* * *

Jiho seemed unusually happy to greet Jisung that morning.

"I’ve got some news for you," he told him. "Stay a little after your shift is over, ok?"

The idea of waiting for news made Jisung almost unbearably jittery; Jiho had seemed happy, so in theory the news must be good. But his mind ran through possibility after possibility, never settling on one for long enough to dismiss it as illogical.

_ he’s going to fire you _ _   
_ _ he hated the way you sang _ _   
_ _ he’s hiring someone else and dropping your pay _

When the time came around, Jisung could barely sit still as Jiho spoke.

"So," he was saying, "one of the part timers is leaving for university. I wondered if you’d want to pick up her shifts? It would put you up to five days a week which is more like full-time work, but I figured that’s about what you were doing before the convenience store closed."

"It was," Jisung confirmed softly. He was still trying to process what Jiho was offering him.

"Would that be ok? I’m not going to push it on you, but I know you were struggling a little for money lately, and I thought-"

"I’ll do it," Jisung said quickly. "I mean- thank you, thank you so much, I’ll do it. Just let me know which days and I’ll be here."

Jiho beamed. "Brilliant! I’ll fix a new timetable for you. Make sure you keep a day for playing, yeah? I think we’re actually getting more customers with the live music angle."

Jisung couldn’t speak. His chest was swelling with something he thought might be hope. It had been a while since anything other than Minho had made him feel like this. He needed to do the maths when he got home, of course, but these extra shifts could make the difference between barely surviving and  _ managing _ . Things wouldn’t be perfect; he’d still struggle a little, especially feeding Saxophone, but he at least wouldn’t have to worry about paying all his bills.

"I’ll see you tomorrow, then?" Jiho asked. Jisung nodded enthusiastically. "Great. Get home safe, I’ll send your new schedule across."

"Thank you. I mean it, Jiho. You don’t know how much this will help."

"As long as you’re safe, kid. I’ve been worried about you lately."

"Thanks," Jisung murmured. It was nice that Jiho cared. And perhaps he wouldn’t have to worry any more. After all, things were going to get better.

Jisung failed to hold back a smile. Things were going to get  _ better _ .

* * *

"Minho!" Jisung called as he stepped through the door. "I’m home!" The angel was nowhere to be seen. "Minho?" Panic began to spark in his chest. Minho said he was staying. They were going to spend the evening together. " Minho?"

"Out here, Jisung." Jisung was more than a little ashamed of the wave of relief that shot through his blood at the sound of Minho’s voice. He followed it out onto the fire escape, and almost retreated back inside at what he saw. Minho. And perched on the thin metal railing, another angel. He looked to be a little taller than Minho, all long, elegant limbs, and when he smiled Jisung found himself more than a little dazzled. Were all angels this beautiful? It made sense, he supposed. He hoped they didn’t all look quite this sad, though.

"This is Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jisung. He’s been letting me stay while I find Woojin."

"Good to meet you," Hyunjin said quietly.

"You too," Jisung replied. "I’m sorry, should I go? It seems like you maybe just need to talk to Minho by himself."

"No, don’t worry," Hyunjin said. "I was just about to go, anyway. I need to find Seungmin."

"Scry for him," Minho suggested softly. "He won’t be blocking you. Do you want someone to keep an eye on Jeongin while you’re gone?"

Hyunjin shook his head. "I think he’ll be fine. He hasn’t- he hasn’t been too stable the last few days, but I think it’s getting better."

"Ok. Come back and visit soon," Minho told him quietly. Hyunjin smiled and took his hand. Nodded to Jisung. And within a heartbeat, he was airborne, a shadow against the sun, disappearing up into the clouds.

Minho sighed heavily, turning to Jisung with a tired smile. "That was unexpected," he joked weakly.

Jisung reached for his hand before he could convince himself not to. "Come on," he said. "Want a cup of tea?"

Minho smiled. "I still don’t know how you drink that regularly."

"That’s a no, then?"

"It’s a yes."

* * *

Seated on the sofa with his wings hooked over the back, Minho appeared to simply be holding the tea for warmth rather than drinking it. Jisung didn’t have the heart to complain about it; he looked too upset for that. It had been something of a day for him, Jisung supposed; finding out that Woojin would Fall, and then being visited by another friend in distress within twenty-four hours. Jisung could allow a wasted cup of tea.

"Everything ok?" he asked gently. Minho sighed.

"I don’t know. I don’t- this isn’t something I’ve dealt with before. I don’t know if everything’s ok."

"Wanna talk it through?"

Minho shifted in his seat, shuffling a little closer to Jisung. "Hyunjin and Seungmin… they’re stuck. Well. They’re not, I suppose they’re finally moving on, but… neither of them know what to do." Jisung waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts and continue. "They’ve been assigned to a human. He’s been having nightmares about a fallen angel, terrible nightmares. So they were told to keep an eye on him. And they… it’s been changing things between them. Hyunjin has fallen in love with the human. And Seungmin’s just up and vanished now, and- I never thought I’d see those two fall apart."

"They’re close?"

"Closer than any of us. Sometimes they’d just disappear together for weeks; leave Woojin and I alone. We never minded of course, but… there was always something about them. Something more, I thought. I just…" he paused. Stared straight ahead. "I didn’t know angels could have that. Love. I thought we were never capable of loving a person specifically. But Hyunjin… he  _ loves  _ him, Jisung. Jeongin, the human. He… loves him. And I think he loves Seungmin too. I think he’s always loved Seungmin. And Woojin with his human, he just  _ adores _ him, and I-" he broke off, breathing as though he might cry, and Jisung carefully took the tea from his hands. "I’m going to lose them. They’re all going to Fall, and I’m going to lose them."

"I’m sorry," Jisung said softly. He didn’t know what else there was for him to say.

Minho gave him a weak smile. "Don’t be. It’s not your fault." He leaned his head on Jisung’s shoulder. "I wish you were an angel," he said quietly. "You’d stay with me, wouldn’t you? We could go flying together."

"We could build me wings," Jisung suggested, trying not to let his voice shake from the way Minho’s words wrenched at his heart. "Like Daedalus and Icarus."

"Who?"

"It’s an old story. Daedalus built his son Icarus wings from feathers and wax and taught him to fly."

"I don’t know how good a teacher I’d make," Minho admitted .

"I’m sure you’d be the best."

"I appreciate your faith in me."

The two of them sat in silence for a while. "Jisung," Minho said eventually. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" Jisung didn’t think he’d ever heard him sound quite so small.

"Of course you can," he managed to say. He thought he might cry.

"Thank you," Minho whispered.

And later, with Minho curled close, Jisung’s back against his chest, he almost hated that he’d never quite felt so at peace. Minho was suffering; he was hurt and in need of comfort, and Jisung felt  _ better _ for having him close.

But Minho tentatively laid an arm across Jisung’s waist, forehead pressed to his shoulder, and the soft sigh he let out made Jisung think that maybe being close to him made Minho feel just a little better too. Maybe not much. But, hopefully, enough.

* * *

The next morning, Minho slept long past Jisung. Jisung showered and dressed and he was still just as deep in sleep as he had been. He watched him for a little while, the little frowns that passed over his brow like clouds. Was he dreaming, Jisung wondered? Of his friends? Of angels and broken wings?

Saxophone interrupted his thoughts by struggling to climb onto the bed, little claws digging into Jisung’s mattress.

"Sorry," Jisung murmured. "Let’s get you some breakfast." He wandered into the kitchen, Saxophone close by his heels, letting out little chirps at the sound of Jisung placing the food bowl on the counter.

Jisung glanced at the pile of letters beside it. "I should probably deal with those, huh?" he asked the cat. Saxophone just dug his claws into his calf, obviously intending to climb up to reach the food if it wasn’t brought down to his level. "Ok, ok,  _ ow. _ "

While Saxophone ate, somehow purring around his food, Jisung opened the letters from his landlord. His heart sank. This was the second time the rent had been raised recently. He wasn’t exactly sure it was legal, but it wasn’t as if he were in a position to do anything about it. Would his new schedule cover it? He pulled out his phone, skimming through his emails for one from Jiho. He counted up the hours. Worked it out.

He couldn’t afford this.

He couldn’t.

He had thought panic would come with that realisation. But it didn’t. He just… stopped. Waited for it to sink in. It didn’t seem to want to.

"Jisung? Are you ok?" Minho’s voice from the doorway to his bedroom. Soft and worried and  _ Minho _ .

"I’m taking Saxophone to a shelter tomorrow," Jisung said quietly.

"What? Jisung-"

"Don’t argue. Please." Something in his tone must have conveyed how serious he was, because Minho’s silence echoed from behind him. Jisung couldn’t find it in him to look at him. He must still be upset from hearing about Woojin and the others. He still needed Jisung. But Jisung just  _ couldn’t _ .

"I’m going to visit Changbin in his shop," he managed to say. "I’ll be back later."

"Don’t," Minho said from behind him. "Please don’t go. Talk to me."

"Later, ok? I just… I need Changbin right now."

He heard the bedroom door shut. Ignored the surge of guilt that came with it.

_ he’ll leave _ _   
_ _ find someone else to help him _ _   
_ _ you’re useless _ _   
_ _ just a broken mess he can’t rely on _

He gathered his things in silence. Changbin would be in work by now. Jisung would stop by the shop in the hopes that Changbin wasn’t busy with a customer, and they could talk.

* * *

A customer was just leaving when Jisung arrived, ink obscured by bloody clingfilm wrapped about their arm.

"Jisung!" Changbin called happily. "This is a nice surprise. I’m guessing you’re not here for a tattoo."

Jisung shook his head. "I just read the letters from our landlord. Kind of needed to… I don’t know."

"Needed a friend?" Changbin asked. "I get that. The rise in rent is going to push me a little, but I guess it’s going to be harder on you."

"Yeah," Jisung managed to say. "It is. I might have to move." He paused. "Even if I find somewhere cheaper, I’m probably going to have to take Saxophone to a shelter. Can’t afford to feed him."

"Oh, Jisung. Oh no. I’m so sorry."

"It’s… yeah." Jisung didn’t really know what else to say. "Sorry. I don’t really know why I came, it’s not fair to bother you at work, I’ll-"

"Hey, it’s ok. I’m just on clean-up and then I need to do some design sketches. Any customers for the next three hours are with the other guys. Come sit in my booth. Hey, Chae?" He called out. A young woman popped her head out of the neighbouring booth, arms and neck peppered with tattoos. Jisung wondered if any of them were Changbin’s work. The flowers on her fingers looked like they might be, from what he’d seen of Changbin’s designs.

"Did we restock on teas? We were running low last time I checked and I forgot to buy more."

"Yup," the woman replied. "They’re all in the back, though. We haven’t put them up on the shelf yet."

"Thanks," Changbin said, and she disappeared with a thumbs up and a smile. "I’ll get you a tea. You normally have lavender, right? Chamomile ok?"

"Chamomile’s perfect," Jisung said quietly.

"Ok. Sit right here, I’ll bring it up once I’ve gotten rid of this sheet."

Jisung watched Changbin clean up his booth, a little surprised by the sense of calm he found in it. Perhaps it was just Changbin who calmed him. That made sense.

"Ok," Changbin said, handing him a mug. "Do you wanna talk, or just chill?"

"I’m not sure," Jisung admitted. "I just- I think I’d be fine about it if not for that damn cat, you know? I’d still be struggling but it- it wouldn’t-"

"Letting go hurts," Changbin said quietly. "And you got pretty attached to him, huh?"

"Yeah," Jisung whispered. "And Minho wants me to keep him, and-"

"Wait, who?"

"Minho. The guy."

"Oh. The guy. Can’t he take the cat if he’s so desperate?"

Jisung shook his head. "He’s not really in a position to."

"Then he should understand that you can"t. It’s not your fault, Jisung. You’ve done your best for the cat. He was a stray, right? You’ve given him more love than he would have gotten otherwise. And someone else will take good care of him.”

"Yeah," Jisung said, holding back tears. "Yeah, I know."

"Has Minho upset you, too? Is that making this worse?"

"He’s not really… No. It’s just that he’s upset about something else and I should be there for him but I can’t, Changbin, I’m tired and I  _ can’t _ when I can’t even take care of myself, and he needs me but I’m  _ useless _ -"

"Woah, woah. None of that. Ok." Changbin knelt in front of Jisung and took his hands. "You’re not useless. It’s ok to put yourself first, Jisung. You’re in a bad place right now. It’s ok to look after yourself. Minho will cope. If he’s making you feel guilty for not putting him first, he’s not good for you, ok?"

Jisung shook his head frantically. "No, it’s- he’s not like that, he just doesn’t understand. And what he’s going through… it’s not something he thought would ever happen. He needs me."

"I understand that. But you can’t help him if you’re barely keeping yourself going, Jisung. Maybe…" Changbin paused. "Maybe you should step away from him for a little while. He’s wrecking your self esteem from what you’ve told me. Not on purpose, I don’t think, but… I know you care about him. I do. And I trust that anyone you care about is worth it, Jisung. But I think you should take a step back. Try to get back on your feet without having someone around who makes you so critical of yourself."

"Maybe," Jisung whispered. "I think I’m in love with him."

"Oh, Jisung. I’m sorry. I really am."

Jisung didn’t respond. Changbin was sort of right, he knew. He’d been so caught up in Minho that he hadn’t really noticed how bad things were getting again. The loss of therapy had been more of a knock than he’d thought; he had over thirty missed calls from his parents; he had been giving up his own food budget for the sake of a cat he had never wanted to keep. But Minho made things feel better. He couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fix the rent or Jisung’s family or his anxiety. But he made it  _ feel _ better.

But maybe Jisung couldn’t keep relying on placebos.

"Thank you," he said, and Changbin waved it away, getting to his feet and tossing him a chocolate bar from the jar by his desk.

"We normally reserve these for low blood sugar swoons, but I feel like you need one," he said with a smile. Jisung somehow managed to smile back.

They talked for maybe another hour and a half while Changbin sketched, discussing cat shelters and new apartments and Felix.

"He’s so busy at the moment," Changbin complained. "Helping his friend Chan set up his new shop. Well, they’re reopening. It’s just down the road. You know the occultist’s?"

"Felix’s friend runs an  _ occultist’s _ ?"

"I know, right? It’s weird, but kind of cool. I still haven’t met the guy, Felix seems to want to keep him hush-hush."

"Has he met any of your friends, though?"

"No. That’s fair, now you point it out. Hey, the three of us should hang out sometime. You’ll love him, I promise."

"I’m sure I will," Jisung agreed. Perhaps it would be a good idea. If he was going to try to distance himself from Minho, it couldn’t hurt to make some new friends. "When’s your next day off?"

He left the shop with a solid plan of when the three of them could meet. Changbin had texted Felix and he had responded enthusiastically to the idea (with a great number of heart emojis that made Jisung fix Changbin with something of a glare.

"How have you not made a move yet?"

"They could be  _ platonic  _ hearts.").

He sighed, breathing in the city air. He would go home. Check on Minho. Look up the closest shelter.

Everything would be fine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who read this story, especially those who left kudos and comments; it means the world to know you enjoy the things I write.
> 
> As before, the next work in this series, The Scales From His Eyes, will be up as soon as I've split it up into chapters and done one final round of edits.
> 
> Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy this last chapter <3

Minho was listening to the radio when Jisung returned. Curled on the sofa, he looked up when he heard the sound of the door opening.

"Hey," Jisung murmured. "How are you-"

"I need to talk to you," Minho blurted out.

"Ok," Jisung said slowly. "That’s… that’s fine." He tried to ignore the threads of panic that wound their way into his throat; there was a tension in Minho’s expression, fraught and tired. Jisung hated it.  _ It’s just a conversation _ , he told himself.  _ You can put distance between you and him and still have conversations _ .

Minho got to his feet, standing before Jisung. It was a strange, awkward moment; the two of them, simply facing one another, both apparently unsure of what to say. " I’ve been thinking," Minho said eventually. "About Woojin. And Hyunjin."

"I’m sure they’ll be fine, Minho, and even if they do Fall-"

"Not about that," Minho interrupted. "About what’s been happening to them. And…" he took Jisung’s hand. "About you."

"Minho," Jisung said, starting to panic. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like the gravity of the moment, the way his heart began to beat faster under Minho’s gaze. "Minho, I don’t understand what you’re-"

And then Minho kissed him.

It wasn’t much; a naive press of Minho’s lips against his own, too much force and too little finesse, but it was a  _ kiss _ . Minho had kissed him.

"I love you," Minho said, words clear as crystal in the air. "Jisung, I’m in love with you."

"What?" Jisung said faintly.

"I’m in love with you," Minho repeated. The words seemed to hit home the second time, rooting in Jisung’s chest and blooming something bitter there, bringing all his oldest insecurities to flower. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t.

"You’re not," he blurted out. He wasn’t sure what made him say it. It wasn’t something he thought; the words just came free as though they’d been waiting on his lips, a denial ready from the start. "That doesn’t make sense, you’re not- no, Minho."

"What do you mean, I’m not?" Minho asked, frowning. "I know how I feel, Jisung."

"You don’t, though, do you?" Jisung countered. He couldn’t put a name to what he was feeling now. Was he angry? Afraid? He didn’t know. "You said to me  _ yesterday _ that you didn’t even think angels could love."

"Yes, and then I heard about the others, and it made sense," Minho said, reaching out to touch Jisung’s cheek. He turned his face away. "Jisung, what’s wrong?" he whispered hesitantly. "You care about me, too, don’t you? I was so sure you did."

Jisung felt something break in him then. Minho had known? Minho had known the  _ entire time _ that Jisung was in love with him? He had insisted on staying close, on touching him, sleeping beside him, when he  _ knew _ ? Did he know just how cruel that was? How much it had been hurting Jisung to want him so badly, to be given scraps of hope from someone so utterly unattainable?

"Stop," he said firmly. "Whatever this is, Minho, just stop it. It’s not fair."

"Jisung- I don’t- what do you mean, not fair, I-"

"Stop telling yourself you’re in love. You’re not. Not with me. It doesn’t make sense that you would be." A thought occurred to him, bitter and biting, and he voiced it without thinking. "You’re just imitating. You’ve seen Hyunjin and Woojin fall in love with humans, and you’re scared they’ll leave you behind so you want to do the same. And I guess I’m convenient, right? I’m the first human you met, I’m half dependent on you anyway, I’m something you can  _ fix _ . You’re not in love with me, Minho. You just  _ want _ to be in love and I happen to be the perfect person to project that onto."

"Jisung-" Minho looked as though his heart might break.

"You’re acting like a child, Minho. Wanting to play house with a human because it’s what his friends are doing."

"Jisung, please, I  _ love you- _ "

"You don’t!" Jisung shouted. "You don’t love me! If you think you do then you don’t  _ know me _ , Minho. You’re seeing me as some kind of- of tragic hero, struggling through, but you’re wrong. I’m a  _ mess _ . I’m  _ broken _ and  _ useless _ and  _ selfish _ and I’m never going to get better because there’s something too big wrong with me, Minho. It’s the reason I’ve only got one friend and I can’t talk to my parents and I can’t even go outside without feeling like my skull will split, and it’s the reason I’ll probably throw myself off a roof before I’m thirty-"

Minho’s palm slammed against the door beside Jisung’s head, sending the room crashing into silence as his wings flared out, wide and shining and otherworldly.

"Don’t," he said eventually. The strain in his voice was too much for Jisung to listen to. It  _ hurt _ to hear Minho speak like that, so much anger and fear held back from his words. "Don’t say that, Jisung, don’t you  _ dare _ talk about killing yourself. I couldn’t-" he stopped, breathing too hard, staring down at the floor rather than meeting Jisung’s eyes. "I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t greet you at those gates, Jisung, it would- it would take me to pieces."

Jisung thought he might be crying.

He couldn’t do this.

"You need to leave," he said softly.

"What?" Minho whispered. He looked up, trying to search Jisung’s eyes now, but Jisung looked away.

"You need to go. Get out," Jisung told him. His voice was a little louder now, words falling heavy to the floor.

"Jisung- I’m sorry, I won’t say it again, please-"

"Get  _ out _ ." He finally met Minho’s eyes then, caught a glimpse of everything there. He looked so hurt. So desperate. Jisung had done that.

Minho retreated without another word, heading for the window. For the briefest of moments, he glanced back. Was he waiting for Jisung to say the words that rested on the tip of his tongue?

_ stay _ _   
_ _ I’m in love with you _ _   
_ _ I need you _ _   
_ _ never leave me _

Jisung said nothing.

Minho landed lightly on the fire escape.

And then he was gone.

* * *

Minho didn’t come back the next day.

Jisung didn’t know if he’d been expecting him to, if he was being honest. Didn’t know if he wanted him to.

_ of course you want him back _ _   
_ _ you’re in love with him _ _   
_ _ you pushed him away and now you’ll never see him again _ _   
_ _ you’ve lost him _

Jisung dragged himself to work. He could barely find the strength to speak to Jiho.

"Just tired," he replied when his boss asked what was wrong. "Looking for new apartments."

And, when he got home, that was just what he did. He sat with his laptop, scrolling through listings for flats until he found somewhere with cheaper rent. It looked a little smaller, a little further out from the city, but he could live with that. He’d have to.

* * *

He was ready to move within a day. He hadn’t any furniture to move; the sofa, the bed, chairs, had all been here when he moved in. They weren’t his to take. He wasn’t exactly attached to them anyway. 

Changbin had helped him clean the flat after wrapping up the few things that really mattered. They ran around with the hoover and bleach, trying desperately to clear as much mould from the shower as they could.

"If it was here when you got here, it’s not your problem," Changbin pointed out when they couldn’t shift it. "Hell, you should have made it pay rent."

He didn’t comment on the fact that Jisung didn’t laugh. He could tell that something was wrong, Jisung knew. He appreciated that Changbin didn’t ask.

"Keep in touch, yeah?" Changbin asked once they were done. "Just because we’re not neighbours doesn’t mean we’re not friends, ok?"

"Yeah," Jisung said quietly. "I’m meeting Felix in a few days, right?"

Changbin visibly relaxed. "You are," he confirmed. "I can’t wait."

"Me neither." Jisung attempted a smile. Judging by Changbin’s expression, it wasn’t particularly convincing.

"Call me if you need me for anything, ok?" he said gently.

"I will. I promise."

"Ok. Hug?"

Jisung nodded, closing his eyes as Changbin wrapped his arms around him and held him tight for a moment. " You’re going to be ok, you know that right?" Changbin said, close by his ear.

"I’m going to try," Jisung whispered back, and Changbin smiled as he pulled away.

"See you Wednesday!" he called as he walked back to his own flat. Jisung waved until he was out of sight.

He retreated into his flat. Picked up the long, white feather he’d found under his bed. "What do you say, Saxophone? Should we leave it here?" The cat didn’t make a sound. "Yeah, we’re taking it with us," Jisung said heavily. "Not that you’ll be with me long, huh? The new landlord agreed to two weeks and then you have to be gone. He seems nicer than the current one, at least."  Saxophone meowed plaintively. "Yeah, I know. We should get going."

_ he might come back _ _   
_ _ stay so he can find you _ _   
_ _ you might not have lost him _

Jisung closed the door behind him, and handed in his key.

* * *

Jisung met Felix three days later. Changbin seemed nervous to introduce them in the little cafe where they’d agreed to meet, but any awkwardness melted away almost instantly under the shine of Felix’s smile.

"He likes you more than me," Changbin whined as Felix disappeared to order another drink. "This is the first time I’ve seen him in ages because of that shop, and you’re stealing all my Felix time."

"Ask him out on a date, then," Jisung countered. "Get more  _ Felix time _ ." Changbin turned red, and Jisung was laughing when Felix arrived back at the table.

"What did I miss that was so funny?" Felix asked brightly, and Changbin flushed an even deeper shade.

"Nothing really," he muttered. "It’s just good to see Jisung laugh, though, right?"

"Has something been wrong?" Felix asked, and Jisung shrugged.

"I have to get rid of a cat I adopted," he explained. "My new landlord’s given me two weeks. I guess a week and a half now."

"You have a cat?" Felix’s eyes were shining. "Do you have pictures?"

"Yeah, a couple." Jisung spent the next ten minutes showing Felix every photo and video of Saxophone he could find that didn’t have Minho in. He wasn’t sure how Felix and Changbin would react to an actual angel on his phone.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to look at those photos himself, anyway.

"Do you have a home for him, then?" Felix asked.

"No," Jisung admitted. "I was going to take him to a shelter."

"You know…" Felix said hesitantly. "My landlord is fine with pets. And I’ve wanted a cat for ages. I know we’ve only just met, but… I’d take good care of him. If you wanted to give him to someone rather than take him to a shelter."

Tears began to prickle at the corner of Jisung’s eyes. "That would be perfect," he managed to say. "I mean- he’s such a sweet cat, you’ll love him, I swear, and- maybe I could visit? If that’s not too much to ask; like you said, we only just met, I-"

"Of course you could visit him," Felix agreed. "If Changbin likes you, and you take in stray cats off the street, I think you’re already my friend." He smiled, brighter than the sun streaming in from outside, for the first time since Minho had left, Jisung felt like things really might be ok.

* * *

Three days passed before Jisung had another full day in his new flat; he’d been avoiding being by himself, picking up extra shifts or playing guitar in the shop for tips. But it was raining, thundering down from clouds as dark as dust and Jisung was curled up on his new sofa, messaging Felix to arrange a time he’d be able to drop off Saxophone.

"I’m going to miss you," he told the cat, "but I’ll come and visit you sometimes. And I think you’ll like Felix. He’ll play with you a lot more than I do."

Saxophone ignored him in favour of sprinting across the room at breakneck speed and sitting before the window, tail thrashing.

Jisung followed his gaze, wondering what he’d seen.

Minho.

Minho was at his window. He was drenched, feathers lying too flat against one another, hand pressed against the glass as his hair dripped into his eyes. Jisung didn’t know what to do. Minho was here.

_ Minho _ was here.

Minho, who he loved. Minho, who he’d run away from, moving across the city to escape a kiss he hadn’t dared believe was real.

Minho mouthed something Jisung couldn’t hear, eyes wide and shining and hopeful. Mechanically, Jisung walked over and opened the window. Saxophone wound around his ankles as he did so, mewing plaintively at the cold.

"Jisung!" Minho reached in through the window, moving to touch Jisung’s cheek, then hesitated and drew his arm back. "You left. I couldn’t find you."

"How did you-?" Jisung asked vaguely.

"Changbin told me where you were," Minho replied. "When I couldn’t find you and all your things were gone, I remembered which door was his and went to see him. I think I scared him. It’s probably because I haven’t really slept, I look kind of awful."

"I think it was probably the wings," Jisung corrected distantly. This couldn’t be real. Minho was outside his window, the scent of jasmine and rain wafting in from the night. Those eyes, sparkling bright like the moon on the river and fixed on him. "Why are you here?"

_ I told you to get out _ _   
_ _ you don’t want me _ _   
_ _ there’s no reason you would want me _ _   
_ __ this can’t be what I think it is

"I want to talk to you. You don’t have to listen, you really don’t, but… I want to explain, Jisung. Will you let me?" And the look in his eyes was so desperate, so full of something Jisung couldn’t name. He just wanted to look at those eyes a little longer.

"Ok," he said softly. "I’ll listen."

Minho’s eyes widened. Perhaps he hadn’t expected Jisung to even open the window. Not after the way their last conversation had gone. Not after the raised voices and the pain and the silence.

"Ok," he said, a little breathless. A little lost. He paused for a moment, looking as though he were steeling himself. "I love you," he said. And Jisung must have looked shocked, or afraid, because Minho reached through the window to take his hand, pushing his shoulder at an awkward angle, half-jamming his wing against the window frame. "I know you think I don’t. I know you think I’m just attached to you because you’re the first human I met. But it’s not that, Jisung. It’s not. I know it’s not. I don’t feel like this with anyone else. No one else makes me feel like… like my heart is too full to fit in my chest. Like I can’t look away from them. It doesn’t-" he sighed, short and frustrated, pushing himself further into the window until he was hanging half in the flat. "It doesn’t hurt me when they hurt. Not like it does with you. I just- I  _ ache _ when you’re sad, Jisung. And when I can’t fix it; the thought of you- of losing you. Permanently. Because I couldn’t fix it. You don’t know what that did to me, Jisung. The way it took the air from me. For a moment when I found your flat empty, I thought- I thought you’d-" He stopped, appearing to gather his thoughts, pull them from dark places. "And when you kept spending time with Changbin and I thought you wanted him and I thought I was losing you it  _ hurt _ . I couldn’t stand it. It was like… like I was drowning." He stopped, watching Saxophone skitter away from the puddle he was forming by the window. "Sorry, kitty," he murmured.

"Are you… are you done?" Jisung managed to say. He thought he might be about to cry. This didn’t feel real. But the way Minho was looking at him, like he wanted to pull him close and never let go… that felt real.

"No," Minho said. "No, I’m not done." He sounded almost feverish, a strange mix of hesitancy and urgency in his voice. "I didn’t understand it for a while. I didn’t understand why I always wanted to be close to you, wanted to be touching you. It got worse the more time I spent with you. The more I looked at you. And I slept beside you and learned the warmth of your skin and your scent and I just… I don’t know. I couldn’t explain it then. I just wanted to touch you even more."

Jisung looked away, feeling his face burn at Minho’s odd, archaic phrasing of something humans had developed so many words for. "You can’t just say stuff like that," he managed to say.

"If it’s true I’ll say whatever I want," Minho countered. "I wanted you, Jisung. I  _ want _ you." He kept going before Jisung could protest. "But not just because you’re beautiful. Because you’re kind and you’re hardworking and you bought food for a kitten rather than yourself and you’ve never given up on your dream and you make me feel like I make sense even when I know I’m talking nonsense." He stopped. Exhaled. "I don’t know what else I can say to make you believe me," he said softly. "But I love you, Jisung. I don’t need you to love me back. I just need you to accept that you’re loved. I just need you to see that you’re worthy of that." He looked away from Jisung for the first time, apparently unable to meet his eyes. "I don’t need you to love me back," he repeated, and it sounded to Jisung like his heart was breaking with the words. He paused, the rain filling the space between his words with thunder. "But I think you do."

Jisung didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t process this. So he did the only thing he could think of.

"Do you want to come in?" he asked faintly.

Minho’s eyes widened, and he slowly withdrew from the window. "That would be nice," he admitted.

Jisung opened the door to the fire escape, watched Minho step inside and shake off his feathers a little before he stood, shivering, in the kitchen. Saxophone sat by his feet, purring, and started to lick the rain from his ankles.

"I do," Jisung blurted out once the silence had stretched too long. "Love you."

Minho’s eyes widened. "You love me?"

"I love you," Jisung said again. It felt strange on his tongue. "I just… I didn’t think you meant it. I didn’t see why you would mean it."

"You love me," Minho said softly, almost to himself. He blinked. Composed himself and took a careful step forward, moving around Saxophone and into Jisung’s space. "You love me  _ back _ ," he corrected gently. His voice shook just a little. Jisung started to shake his head without thinking, and Minho carefully reached up to cradle Jisung’s face in his hands. "You love me back, Jisung."

"That’s going to take me a while," Jisung managed to say, voice smaller than he would have liked. "I think I believe you. I do. But I can’t think it myself yet. Does that make sense?" He looked away, embarrassed, and Minho gently wrapped his wings around them both and tilted his head so their eyes met again.

"I understand," he said softly. "I’ll be here until you believe it." He smiled, soft and sweet and silly. "You still haven’t explained to me how the fridge works, so I have to stay."

Jisung laughed, and Minho laughed with him, the sound sweet and bright against the background of the rain. "Will you kiss me again?" Jisung asked without thinking. He panicked as soon as the words left his tongue, began an apology that barely met the air before Minho leaned in and pressed his lips to Jisung’s. He was gentle and careful in a way he hadn’t been the first time, giving Jisung space to retreat if he wanted to. Jisung didn’t. Kissing Minho just felt  _ right _ . Like it was something they’d both been waiting for. It was, Jisung supposed. It just wasn’t something he thought he’d ever have.

"I love you," Minho said quietly as he drew back, pressing their foreheads together. "I’m going to make you see just how loved you are."

And Jisung felt it. He felt it like a tremor in his chest, like something growing where the ground had been dry. He was  _ loved.  _ Maybe he couldn’t see why. Maybe he still looked at himself and saw something unworthy, something too broken to be deserving of any chance at all. But Minho loved him despite that. Minho  _ loved him _ .

"I love you," he said back, and watched Minho smile, bright as starlight, before he kissed him again and again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see more of my work, and some of the thought processes behind it, come and say hi on my shiny new (very green) tumblr! You can find me under nettlestingsoup just like you can here, and I'll be posting about stray kids, writing, and maybe the odd snippet of unpublished AUs or hints as to what I'll be posting next. I hope to see you there! <3


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